This week I'll be mostly counting socks

Spot the odd sock.

There's always an odd sock.

For years we never had an odd sock. I mean never. Then one day - in 2004 I seem to remember - it happened. An odd sock came out of the wash. One of Abbie's. Since then there has always been an odd sock. I mean always. One odd sock would find it's other half and then another would go missing. At times there have been half a dozen odd socks sitting around waiting for their other halves.

This week the obsessive compulsive gene kicked into overdrive and demanded that the socks were paired up once and for all.

I got every sock in the house into a pile. Clean ones, dirty ones. Mine, Sar's, Sam's, Abb's. In drawers, on shelves, out of the washing machine, on the Aga, under the stairs, on the airer, under the bed. Wherever they were, all the socks came out and followed me upstairs for the day of reckoning. I was like the Pied Piper of Hamelin Sockelin. Just without the pipe, and the rats. I did, however, lure any odd socks out into the open, and after a huge count up banished the offending odd socks into the bin.

From this day forward let it be known that there will be no odd socks.

This week I'll be mostly showering alfresco

The lengths I go to for blog pic.

The title makes it sound more shocking than it is.

In our new house, the shower cubicle looks out of the bathroom window, which looks out of the front of the house, which isn't overlooked by anything else. So unlike any house I've ever lived in before, there's the very real and present possibility of leaving the window and blinds open, and being able to see and hear the great outdoors while showering.

Outside, the wind rustles through the trees. Southward in the distance the sun glints off of the sea. Nearby the sea birds can be heard. Eastward are fields where the Jersey cows graze.

The last paragraph makes it sound more romantic than it is.

In reality the wind in the trees can be heard only when the road noise quietens down. Southward, the sea is a tiny triangle of blue between a couple of trees - you have to know exactly where to look, and can't possibly see it if there's the vaguest hint of fog or mist. The birds are seagulls squawking noisily on the roof. Yes there are fields nearby, but with the road alongside the cows never come over this way, what with the racket from the traffic.

That last paragraph makes it sound more tedious than it is.

Even with the traffic and the fog and the seagulls, there's no better way to start the day.  If you're driving up to Five Oaks at 8am on a Saturday morning, best keep your eyes on the road when you pass our place.

This week I'll be mostly hating Marmite

Love it? Hate it?

Marmite. You either love it or hate it. I fall into the category of people who love it. If we're having toast or crumpets, I have to have at least one slice with marmite on it. Yes, I'm a Marmite lover.

So for Valentine's Day this year Sarah got me a jar of Marmite. Not any old jar of Marmite, but a special jar. Not only with "I love you" on the front, but a new special recipe: 'Limited Edition Marmite with a Touch of Champagne'.

Now, if you're a Marmite hater, then you have probably just barfed all over your computer screen. However, if you're a Marmite lover, then you have probably just said "erm, right, I'm not quite sure about that".

I had some on my Saturday morning breakfast slice of toast. And, well, it was, erm, totally underwhelming, I'm afraid to say.  Kind of like Marmite, but with a hint of champagne. Call me a heathen, but I like my yeast extract spread as it comes.

Champagne in my Marmite? Er no thanks.

This week I'll be mostly wearing purple

Ooh, suit you sir!

I was in a meeting this morning and it was pointed out to me that I - along with the colleague sitting next to me - was wearing a purple shirt and tie. Suspiciously, the last time I'd been in a meeting for that same project it had also been pointed out that I was wearing purple.

Nothing particularly odd about that, but once it had been pointed out I started seeing purple everywhere:

• Another colleague turned up late to the meeting, and he too was wearing a purple shirt.
• During the day I noticed at least two other purple shirt wearers.
• When I got home and checked my wardrobe, I had no less than three shirts vaguely in the spectrum of colours that one might consider purple, all of which I have worn or intend to wear this week.

But don't worry, it's not like I've got a drawer full of purple socks or anything. At least I don't think I have. Maybe I should check.

Now, if I team up with David Icke (purple tracksuit wearer extraordinaire) and embark on a key-note speech tour insisting that the royal family are in fact reptiles from the planet Draco - that's when you should start worrying.