Mad mcMad

I think we might have gone mad! We've been cooped inside the house all day, sorting out this year's tax. There were times today when I thought I might have been drowning in receipts. There was a pile like the beginnings of a bonfire in the middle of the room. I got in a panic at one stage because I genuinely didn't think it was possible to finish.

Of course I've learned a million lessons, the same lessons I learn every January when I promise to sort out my receipts in equal instalments throughout the year rather than waiting to do them all in a state of extreme panic at the end. It is mind-numbing work, though. As Nathan said, as we finally staggered out of the house for a midnight kebab, "imagine how it feels to be an accountant with this sort of bullshit every day of your life!" No wonder they are paid well! Are they paid well? They must be.

Our only respite from the all-consuming fiery hell was a brief trip into Muswell Hill to buy expandable files and highlighter pens, and an hour in the early evening when we both wrote a song... It's amazing what extreme pressure can do for creativity!

Oh yes. We also spent an hour pouring over the legalese of a contract. That was hell as well!

Nathan's gone cross-eyed. We've asked for a kebab without any money in our pockets. I have no idea what my name is. Nathan was horrified with me earlier because I called a woman in a bakery, "Chunkas", a term of endearment from my childhood which occasionally slips out of my mouth. He thinks it sounds a bit rude. I think my mate Tammy would be proud!