As an author, the weekend means many things, but the foremost and most important is guilt-free writing. I mean you wake up, get a coffee and write. Saturday and Sunday pass in a blur. What happens come Monday? Chaos… You open the fridge and it’s empty, you didn’t shop, you remind yourself. You look around your home in disgust. You didn’t clean either. God, I hate Mondays but not for the reasons most people do. I love my job. I love to write but after the weekend it’s impossible. Monday is spent bringing order. The washing basket that would  give a mountaineer a challenge must be tackled. I approach the area gingerly. Contents of the basket are now breeding on the floor. I consider a gas mask and gloves but settle on gloves only as I separate the darks from whites.

Yes, I do have a separator in the basket my family ignore. Attached by velcro only, it has long succumbed to repeated abuse and lies flat on the bottom. I look at it sadly.” I tried”, I say. I contemplate reinstating it but dismiss it as a lost cause. My family will see this as a new challenge. After half an hour, I consider working with asbestos to be less dangerous.  I take the first load to the washing machine and put it on. I wonder what to attack next. Shocked I take to my office (cleanish) and sit to consider. The house looks like armageddon. Should I tackle it methodically room by room? I’ve lost my enthusiasm. The house is reproachful and the washing needs attention but I’ll get it tomorrow. Now I hate Tuesday’s …