ONE of the most common complaints of the modern professional is the hours.
The British worker spends more time at work than any of his European cousins, which of course means less time spent at home.
When you have two in the relationship who bow to the modern pressures, the problem is doubled.
The Long Suffering Marjorie may be a student on paper, but her intensive one-year teacher training course is like a full-time job. Monday to Friday, 8am until 6pm, which all adds up to a rather forgotten household.
Our home is merely a shelter where the LSM and I meet up in the early hours of the evening to discuss the day's events over a steaming microwave meal. Then it's time for bed, only to do it all again tomorrow.
Gone are the days when coming home meant being greeted with the unmistakable aroma of home-cooked food or the chattering of the television.
Back in Sunny Rochdale, when I was still living with the Folks, the house was never empty.
Mother Dearest would be there, slaving over a stove and making sure the house was kept in order. It's a dated notion nowadays but it's one that is certainly missed.
Most of my house is currently bathed in darkness.
Over the past couple of months I have suffered a spate of 'popping' light bulbs. They have just gone and taken the light with them.
Replacing them is hardly an awesome task, nor is it rocket science, but it is time-consuming.
First of all you have to take the bulb out. That requires stepladders, or at least a chair.
It's always the awkward ones that go. The ones which require the careful removal of the ornamental lampshade (which actually is like rocket science). Or worse, the one in the bathroom which requires careful prising with a screwdriver, with the nagging fear that the thin plastic is going to break at any moment.
Then, once you have noted down the wattage, you have to go out and buy a replacement. The Folks' home always had a plentiful supply of spares, but then again my dad is an electrician. You're never stuck for a pen in my house.
Once you've been out, found the aisle which sells light bulbs, found the right wattage and the right variety (screw-type or baton), you have to go back and repeat the process in reverse.
Get the stepladders out, put the bulb in, reconstruct the ornamental lampshade etc. It's all very time-consuming and when time is something you don't have, that leads to it not being done.
And that's why our house is in near-darkness.
Every room is a victim in some form or another. The bedroom is powered by only two in its three-light system. The landing, also a three-light configuration (a curse of the Ikea generation) has only one bulb working, as does the kitchen.
The living room is without a soft-glow lamp and the bathroom is without any light at all.
Putting off the replacement of these bulbs only delays the inevitable and makes the work harder. If I kept on top of the problem, it would have been a 10-minute job at the most. It's now going to take an hour - an hour which I do not have.
My other senses have been heightened with the lack of light and I'm getting round to the idea that I might not need light at all - just a big bag of carrots!
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