It’s Friday.  Nanette says she loves Fridays, because we get to “do some jobs around the house”. 

Not today, think I.  Sure, the winter sun is shining bright, but it’s cold out, thanks to a freezing wind that didn’t even think about stopping for a bit of hotel quarantine when it migrated from Antarctica a couple of days ago.   

As I stand at the window, trying to decide whether those really are snow clouds on the horizon, and debating if I should brave the elements and fetch some more firewood from the pile behind the shed, Nanette glides up beside me.  “It’s windy,” says she, stating the obvious.  “Yep,” says I, not realising that her seemingly casual remark is just an opening move in a game I didn’t even know I was playing.  “Are you still going to power wash the path to the clothesline like you said?”

I rake quickly through my recent memories.  Ah, yes, it was Monday.  Nanette had commented that the aforementioned path was “looking a bit grubby” and “could do with a power wash – if you have time.”  Only half listening at the time, I believe I may have rolled off my stock reply of “no worries, I’ll do it Friday.”  

So, here we are.  It’s Friday, it’s cold, and I need to find a really great excuse – really quickly.

But, alas, before I can get my thoughts in order, Nanette continues, “at least it’s not as cold as it was when you played golf on Wednesday.”  

Just like that!  I feel like one of those novice chess players who’s checkmated by a master – in only two moves!

Ten minutes later, I’m wearing my rendition of the Michelin Man’s outfit, bracing against the gale as I make my way to the shed. (Editor’s note – the wind had actually dropped to a light chilly breeze, but I’m looking for sympathy here.)  

Over the next hour or so, I – connect power washer to garden hose and nearby electrical outlet – curse when garden hose blows off power washer connection and thoroughly soaks shoes – reconnect hose – attack path (and occasionally shoes, which are wet anyway) with fierce water jet – congratulate self on restoring path to former beauty – generously decide to clean some nearby windows and bits of garden furniture while I’m on the job.  

As I finish packing everything away, Nanette calls out casually “Did you do the front path as well?  It’s looking pretty dirty.  Oh, and do you still have that special stuff you used last time to seal the path after you cleaned it?”  Never one to fully admit defeat, I mumble, “no worries.  I’ll do it Friday.”