Soft rain, low clouds over the ridge I'd intended to explore, damp sheep, a head like a stuffed pillow.

I made the most of my children's absence and the peace of Clontafleece.  I filled a bin bag with the accumulated detritus of their rooms.   I separated dark from white and set the washing machine in motion.  I prepared a curry and let it simmer gently for a while.  I cooled tins of Blue Sapphire Gin and tonic in the fridge for later.

I settled by Aidan's fire with a pot of tea, a book and a jar of Vicks.

By the time the children came home the house smelt of clean washing, cumin, coriander and eucalyptus. 

This domestic goddess had surpassed herself.  She took a paracetamol and crashed into bed to listen to the bleats of sheep.