Trying to keep things together is like trying to vacuum Moon Sand with a broken vacuum.
It has all started to go a bit pear shaped this morning.
The chap whom I shall call 'Mr Grizzle', who operates the knacker lorry is stuck at the end of the road. He sounded cross and cold.
My husband is cross and cold and our eldest son, who is not too fond of getting up early, is cross and cold.
This repeats itself around the farm like a tartan pattern and even the smallest hen is cross and cold. It must be bad as I heard my husband mutter 'bloody' and he never swears.
I feel quite happy this morning, happy and cold, but the men need a foil for their miffedness. That said, they are all outside and the children and I are not.
We are going to try and make the living room Festive today but must tidy things up first. The worst about 'bothying it' is that the one room where we all use has turned into an air raid shelter. There are piles of blankets and duvets over the sofas, toys everywhere, a pile of socks which the PieDog has rounded up and a table stacked ceiling height with heavy material where I have been churning out winter curtains.
The vacuum cleaner has indeed broken and the loathesome, snotter green, 1970's shag pile carpet is looking at me with Attitude. I am going to get medieval on it's pile.
Today's mission is to channel Mary Poppins, Pollyanna and Kim of Kim and Aggie. Begone the Clampetts and Dingles and hello some decorum and Standards. And soap.
That is the theory but the practice, no doubt, will transmogrify into something else.