Manual labour

I think I need some hand cream. A whole day sanding today. The vibration seems to have shaken all the sense out of me, such that I couldn't even begin to think what to tell the plumber about which tap goes where this afternoon. That'll be a job for the morning.

But today was all about the living room floor, including enduring a 30 minute lecture from our electrician's boss about how to sand and seal floors. And about how the stuff I was using wasn't varnish despite quite clearly saying 'varnish' on the tub in six different languages, including French. Sigh. Mr B doesn't have to put up with this.

I was going to blip the ironic label on the front of the big floor sander, which says "Super Light". Having carried it a mere ten yards up the steps to the house I can assuredly say "Super Light - my arse" (that being another object that could only be called 'super light' if it had a big spotlight shining on it. Which would never be a good look.)

Anyway, off to find some handcream (stop sniggering at the back).