The trouble with Roast Beef is that, eventually, you have to clean the (supposedly self- cleaning) oven. Luckily, David bought me a newspaper on Sunday to receive my free copy of The Shawshank Redemption, so the oven shelves are covered in gloop, on newspaper, on the kitchen floor. Gloop that promises "No nasty acrid smells, no scrubbing and biodegradable". The newspaper would have been completely wasted otherwise, 'cos I never read them. The oven is also liberally smeared in said gloop, only I mustn't forget to rinse it off before dinner, or the soft flour tortillas will be a shade stiff for folding.
And all because I'm running out of housework that I'll do willingly and I have lots of time on my hands with this pathetic injury! Stir crazy doesn't come close, I'm truely fed up. I did mention, I think, that patience is not my strong point. I am inherently lazy when it comes to housework, but I'm even considering washing the walls, chronologically sorting my old photographs and decluttering the bookshelves. I hoovered under the settees on Friday. Now that's desperate.
Apparently, a bridge that was included on my route at Glen Feshie has been swept away at the beginning of the month. It did rain a bit. Luckily, there are another couple of footbridges marked further north, so let's hope they are still in servicable order. Mind you, might be glad of a foot bath by then. I've had time to research possible transport getting to the start and home again, might aswell make myself useful. Worryingly, it looks quite straightforward, but I've had dealings with Scottish public transport before and I know it has it's own quirkiness at times.