Whine
I hate lazy days at home. They really don't do much for me. After the nice lie-in, perhaps some nice bakery bread for lunch and a full perusal of the Sunday paper, I've pretty much had as much nothing as I can handle and start itching to get out and DO something. If your beloved wants that, and it's a miserable day out, and you're trying to shake off a cold, I guess it's a good call, but I'm already feeling cabin-fevered and by the end of the day I'm pretty sure I'll have cried from frustration/boredom/life-is-passing-me-by-ness. Trying to complete a Tax Return, funnily enough, did not help.
Thing is, there's not much to do at home. We didn't set up for the long-term, so we don't have all the little knick-knacks of stuff to do, we don't have enough space for us not to be on top of each other (he is watching TV while I type this and I'm pretty certain the clacking will be getting on his nerves as much as the bloody Stargate is getting on mine).
And it's cold. Honestly and truly, this has been the worst winter of my life. Yes, English winters are colder, but we deal with it so much better. You get cold when you go out, but the places you go to are warmed and you come home to a cosy house. Here, they really haven't accepted that it gets cold, so there is no culture of central heating. Our flat has a heater - a big hairdryer type thing that blows hot air across the table, scattering papers, making a racket and not heating the place for a single second after it is switched off. The windows are single glazed and badly sealed; you can feel the cold air coming in through them, and there's no curtains to help insulate the place. Work is no better; the air con is still cooling the place and I am not the only person who spends all day wearing at least their scarf and often their coat. I never wore more than 3 layers in England, here I never wear fewer than 4. And I'm usually wrapped in a blanket over that, and still miserably cold as well as padded. I feel like I got cold sometime in May and have not defrosted, and it is just horrible.
Ah well. At least I am eating enough to fuel an army.
Thing is, there's not much to do at home. We didn't set up for the long-term, so we don't have all the little knick-knacks of stuff to do, we don't have enough space for us not to be on top of each other (he is watching TV while I type this and I'm pretty certain the clacking will be getting on his nerves as much as the bloody Stargate is getting on mine).
And it's cold. Honestly and truly, this has been the worst winter of my life. Yes, English winters are colder, but we deal with it so much better. You get cold when you go out, but the places you go to are warmed and you come home to a cosy house. Here, they really haven't accepted that it gets cold, so there is no culture of central heating. Our flat has a heater - a big hairdryer type thing that blows hot air across the table, scattering papers, making a racket and not heating the place for a single second after it is switched off. The windows are single glazed and badly sealed; you can feel the cold air coming in through them, and there's no curtains to help insulate the place. Work is no better; the air con is still cooling the place and I am not the only person who spends all day wearing at least their scarf and often their coat. I never wore more than 3 layers in England, here I never wear fewer than 4. And I'm usually wrapped in a blanket over that, and still miserably cold as well as padded. I feel like I got cold sometime in May and have not defrosted, and it is just horrible.
Ah well. At least I am eating enough to fuel an army.