Unloved chores No 43

I think the world needs some good news today. In the interests of distracting attention from the clownish actions of the UK PM in Rome, let me tell you I only sneezed three times and could be said to feel as if the effects of this cold might - might - be diminishing, just a bit. This is not to say, however, that I leapt back into my usual life; I decided another day largely spent indoors might hasten things along, and it was in a spirit of making the most of it that I tackled the tumble-drier. 

I really don't use the machine often. I much prefer to dry my washing outside, and tend only to finish things off in the machine if it's still damp when I bring them in. But the combination of incessant rain and bed linen and towels for four visitors has meant a great deal of tumbling in the past couple of days, and I began to notice a funny little noise. Not a big, threatening sort of noise, but maybe a slightly portentous one? Better see that all's well ...

It's proof of how long it's been that I had to look up a video to see how to empty the condensate bottle - or even to find it. It was while doing this that I discovered the ghastly primeval sludge coating the grilles of the condensing thingmy and set about looking for something suitable with which to clean them. Himself joined me - he had, he informed me, just the thing. That's him holding the thing. It was most effective, and we both had a turn at gunge-removal. It was strangely satisfying in the way that, say, picking one's nose could be - only more acceptable. (Notice my use of the conditional there - none of us would do such a thing these days, would we?)

By the time I'd got all the muck out, and wiped carefully round all the surfaces, I was well ready to pop another load in and have a coffee. It purred round, with no funny noises. Result.

Otherwise, I had two good conversations with friends (phone and FaceTime), made hummus for lunch (odd colour - black chickpeas - but delicious), did five Italian revision exercises, uploaded my entire Photos library onto a backup drive (used to do this regularly; got complacent when I got the current computer); sorted other photos that might go on a calendar for the family this year; struggled with a sudoku, and took photos out of the windows of a submarine and a rainbow. I think I'll put one of the sub ones as an extra - not a Trident, but one of the wee harmlessly hunter-killer ones. (That's ironic). 

A last thought before I stagger off to bed. I keep saying that this cold has reminded me of my childhood colds - presumably for the same reason of missing antibodies - but for one horrid feature that I never want to relive. I was telling Himself about the hallucinations I used to have when I had a hight temperature as a child, in which a huge ball of mud, all patted together, about the same size as the one in Indiana Jones, was rolling inexorably towards me. It was studded with tiny flowers, like ... speedwell, or maybe little daisy heads - and I couldn't move. And he told me he'd had that too, only without the flowers. Is this common? Anyone else ever have this particular waking nightmare? And why am I recalling it now, just before bed ...?

Himself has just stopped the grandfather clock to let it lose an hour without trauma; I shall do my watch and my bedside clock and call it a day.