Woke up around 9am. I was cold and I couldn't really get myself moving. However, I was back in the room with paintbrush in hand around 10am. I'd eaten and dressed and just forced myself to get going.

I painted the ceiling and frieze again. This wasn't fun. It's a lot of effort to swing the ceiling roller around.

Then I set about painting the skirting boards and other bits of woodwork in the room, touching up some bits I'd not noticed doing a bad job of in the dark of the previous night. The bathroom got a fresh coat of gloss on its windowsills.

I finally accepted that the tumble dryer was bust and, therefore, my chances of a shower, were gone completely. The towel in the dryer was still wet from its post-purchase first wash, it would come home with me.

I stopped painting when the last section of skirting board was done. I stripped the dust sheet from the floor, vacuumed (a nice way to get crud onto fresh paintwork - D'oh!) and then brought in the bed, which I assembled.

Then I did the packing. All the DIY stuff got put away and I did a raid on my loft. There's a load of crap up there and I really do need to bring it to Reading or bin it. However, I could only be bothered to rescue my DVDs (too many CDs and I couldn't bring them all, so I left them all - rather than go looking for ones I might like). I also liberated some old sound equipment that may be useful in Reading.

I was packing the car and spotted the neighbours, so I went over to theirs and had a chat-cum-being-cooed-at-for-losing weight.

Then I drove to Leeds.

Then we had some mediterranean food.

Then I drove to Reading.

I arrived, exhausted around 1am. That was the weekend. Blimey.

I didn't manage to finish the painting I'd planned. This was due to the sheer quantity of surfaces that needed paint. I totally overestimated how much I could achieve. However, I slogged hard and achieved loads. I'm due to revisit the house again at the end of the month and I should be able to finish and re-do bits as necessary.