Bate comes home to a yellow, dusty, dark and dangerous house

I can't go into details, I believe there are confidentiality clauses and such like, but I can tell you that major events keep battering my peace, out of the blue, unexpected.

I'm fed up. And anxious, which is unlike me. I mean I even turned to Mindfulness for several minutes before ditching the process in favour of a family size bar of Galaxy (lots), which works much, much better.

I'd like to put it all down to the grieving process and Elizabeth Kubler-Ross five steps, not just my grief but those close to me, and while that is in part true, it sort of isn't either.

Anyway, the former LOML, who is up to date on most matters in my life, including my stormy, on-off relationship with the Farmer, uncharacteristically decided to take charge, just like a knight in shining armour (chortle: except instead of armour he crams his 20 stone frame into a New York Marathon tee shirt) oh the irony.

He would look after the needy dog, the morbidly obese cat, Bernard (with whom he has great affinity) and the painfully thin, vicious Milton (also a cat) while the Teen and me escaped for the weekend.

He also decided that this would provide an opportune moment to sand 20 layers of white paint off the teen's bedroom floor, so he arrived with an industrial sized piece of equipment that was indeed much, much bigger than him - #tomthumb.

Yes my stomach lurched at the prospect, but I am in no fit state to be making executive decisions so I left him to it and drove off into the sunset in my shiny, new car with the Teen in tow, who really, really would have preferred to be partying with her friends.

We had in fact a lovely time, with friends, just talking, eating and drinking copious amounts of tea, however, my calm was punctuated with the odd text and phone call from the former LOML (how I loathe Martin Cooper, inventor of the goddamn mobile phone).

"I am livid, the machine that I lugged up your ridiculously narrow stairs doesn't work. I have been had."

"You can't leave it half done, what are you doing now?"

"Bate. It's almost midnight. I am using another machine that has a mind of its own that I had to buy for lots of money. Do you know that you are my life's work? It's exhausting."

"It was your idea. I didn't ask. But it does need to be finished before we get back."

I think he must have stubbed his toe at that point because I had to hang up before his agonising wail deafened me.

Two days later the teen and me returned home. My yellow home. Everything was covered in yellow dust, clearly the former LOML had never heard of closing a door or indeed five doors. We coughed and spluttered and we unpacked our things.

The floor to be fair looked pretty decent though, but I couldn't figure out why the lights upstairs didn't work or why I found a few pieces of plastic tubes.

"Whats gong on with the light situation?" I asked.

"Oh, there was a flood or sorts. The mop bucket fell over and flooded everything, er like the electrics, the lights and the smoke alarm. IN fact I have had to power down."

"And these?"

"Oh I think they are from the furniture, but I am not sure, they fell off something when I was sanding."

I have had not had to deal with any DIY disasters for two years. I had forgotten about the former LOMLs propensity to meddle with the National Grid when playing with power tools.

"I will get the hair dryer on it".

"No you wont." And I Googled electrician on my mobile phone, who arrived 20 minutes later.

Martin Cooper all is forgiven.

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