Oh Look, Fruit Bowl's Empty.

If the fruits of the spirit are indeed love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control, well i have in my posession a one-way ticket to hell (flying BA, sans nuts and G&T, stuck in a window seat with a broken seat-back tv thingy sitting next to Ray Romano with flatulence. Him. not Me).

Christ on a crutch! I am moments away from an embolism, apoplexy or anything else relatively biological and cardio-vascular. So all of a sudden Muppet's got his rods in a bloody great twist. The maid (read "cleaning lady". pffft) has decided to take the opportunity to have some sort of tunnelling caterpillar surgery on her hand. Which means no dusting or lovingly wiping the toilet bowl, neither of which, delightfully, fall under my job description. Needless to say, given the size of my heart and my exceptional upbringing, i ask if there is anything she usually does that he'd like me to do today instead. No, there's nothing. So i get my computer out and decide to get on with some work (designy stuff and all and all). Milli - nay nanoseconds later he bellows. Changed his mind, would love me to do his bathroom. Don gloves, grab clothespeg, vomit bucket and bleach. Lots of bleach. I'm pretty much like a Domestos ad except, funnily, i'm not smiling as much. Uncanny that.

Scrub, scrape, chisel, retch, vom, mop up, leave. Return to computer.

Bellow.

Can i please dust every item in the cupboard under the stairs. I. Sh*t. You. Not.
Grab a duster, feign asthma attack which goes unnoticed much to my utter disgust and get on with it. I swear i even polished the f*cking lightbulb. Return to computer.

Bellow.

Cup of coffee. Stomp, flick, pour, throw (i wish). Return to computer.

Bellow... The day continues in this fashion.

Round 3.30, a man is arriving for a meeting. I am sitting at my computer. For a change. All of a sudden there is an almighty yell of "HELP!!!". Now may i just point out in my profession, when you hear a yell like that, your first reaction should be the tightening of both sphincter and intercostal muscles in panic, you look for the 911 phone number and then bolt to the rescue in time to (hopefully) save the other hip. I flung back my chair, slamming it into the antique table behind me, tripped straight over my power cable, which (up yours you liars at Apple) does not come out if you trip on it. Made an unwittingly spectacular save courtesy of my ample backside. Flew through the house, head whipping wildly trying to catch a glimpse of twitching grandpa mid heart attack. Eventually locate him in the office. The printer appears to have run out of ink.

Speechless.