...has been grand. Upstairs is a sermon-writer whose father is in the House of Lords (I finished mine on Obadiah 1-14 this afternoon, ahead of schedule, and in no small measure due to David Field's excellent study guide) and downstairs a chess-player, washer-up and waste disposal maestro, along with a cook of large braided cheese scones.
Waste disposal. A thoroughly satisfying job. I just love to put stuff in the bin. And I quite enjoy the sorting that comes with modern recyclables collections. Simple, satisfying and provisionally final. And don't get me started on the joys of washing-up. Once again, a simple job, very theraputic at the end of the day full of computer screens and people, and in small doses a perfect piece of structured procrastination. My love of washing-up is also a perfect example of the intertwining of nature and nurture: I have learned it by observing Dad, a devoted washer-up, and I think I just took to it when I realised that a slight tendency to laziness could be satisfied by finding pleasure in washing up at a measured pace.
