However, the energy needs to be recouped, and I hadn't really slept properly in quite some time. Last weekend's trips required earlier mornings all round than I'm comfortable with for a weekend.
So, I slept unashamedly. Then I rose, had some cereal, and tried to make a dent in the ironing. As I did this, I watched the second disc of the Absolutely DVD box set. Only 5 more discs to watch. Perhaps I should stop buying DVDs if I've so many that I've not seen? Don't be ridiculous.
I ironed plenty of things. I also paired nearly all of my socks and folded nearly all of my undercrackers. I would have said pants, but undercrackers is much more of a word, isn't it. I'd basically been keeping on top of my laundry for the last month, with the exception of the bit where you put it away. As a result, I had two laundry baskets full of an assortment of clean clothes that I would have to dig through to find what I needed. Also, nearly every shirt and pair of non-jeans in my possession was in need of ironing. "Nearly every" is perhaps too extreme a description. It would be better to say that it was nearly every shirt that I would consider wearing in the average week.
With a couple of hours of laundering behind me, I became aware that I had a visitor due at the house, so I skipped out to buy some groceries and see whether I could find some items I need for my Glastonbury trip next weekend. I spent quite a few minutes at the pleasure of Mr Tesco and returned home with more fresh fruit. I like fresh fruit. It's so fruity. And so fresh.
The purpose of the visit I would receive was to workshop material for a show at the Edinburgh festival. In this case, the performer is a local comedian, who has been working on their material but perhaps needed something to work towards and to take time away from distractions and look at structuring, reviewing and honing what would form the basis of her show.
We blethered about stuff and then I provided a microphone and, unconnectedly, a recording device. She set about performing a show. This was not meant to be the finished article in any respect. I and her husband, also present, made various notes and then we stopped. The show had run pretty much to time and we had a number of things we could talk about.
But first dinner.
I'd noticed that my guests seemed to be particularly aware of the fact that we were sitting in a partially painted living room, furnished only by picnic chairs. I have stopped finding this sort of thing abnormal. Further abormality came when they set about preparing the dinner which they'd brought for our enjoyment and I was called on to provide the necessary cookware. A wok? Mmm - do I have such a thing? Not really. Still, we improvised and the dinner party side of things seemed to go well.
If Confucious were alive today (maybe he is, I've no idea) he would probably say that everything tastes better with Soy sauce. And he'd be right.
We set about the process of dissecting the show after we'd eaten. This was a nice idea. It gave us a bit of time to digest what we'd heard and also allowed our performer to change from performing mode to reflective mode.
We worked until after midnight, unaware of the passage of time. Or at least, I was unaware of it. I may have been boring my guests senseless with my various analyses and suggestions and comparisons. It amused me, though, and it was my house, so hopefully I can't be held to be too much of a party bore.
My guests left and I contemplated many things, including the washing up and the headache that I'd somehow acquired from the coffee I'd made. I decided that what my mind and body needed was to go to bed and read. I know. I read a book. How did I ever find the time? In fact, I've been reading this book a fair bit this week, after I got properly into it on a couple of train journeys last week. Note to self: train journeys are both good for the environment and also good for the opportunity to do some reading.
I finished the book - The Murder Ballad, by Jane Hill. It ended neatly and swiftly and well. I liked the ending, which is odd for a psychological thriller/chick-lit read, but that's the author's prerogative and I applaud it.
Somehow during the day I'd managed to write some postcards and print off something I needed to send off.
It had been a productive day in most respects, though the ironing wasn't complete and I hadn't even picked up a paintbrush, let alone used one.