The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and it's a beoootiful day.
And what am I doing? Am I mowing the lawn? Nope. Am I painting the front and/or the back door? Nope. Am I sitting at the dining room table doing paperwork? You betcha.
Two of those paperwork problems were despatched earlier in the week, but then we entered a state of flux - Patsy123 arrived at Tynemouth with her baggage train.
Today I am centred; I am calm. Just the state to be in to tackle my 2002/3 accounts which letters from the Inland Revenue and my accountants suggest would be A Very Good Thing Indeed.
So I'll sit there, Steve Coleman and the Five Elements tootling away rhythmically in the background, and finish the damn accounts.
All the time with one ear cocked for the sound of Mr O'Swishity at the door. He's coming round to fix a price for recovering the felt roof on the garage. He'll flash his diamond ring at me and grin winsomely, call me "Guv'nor" and set a price which will be high but just within the range he can read next to the word MUG on my forehead, .
On the other hand, he may be a totally honest fella who'll help me fit in with the other house-owners in the street all busily building bedroom extensions, libraries, conservatories, minarets and turrets onto their semis.
House modification. It's the new rock & roll.