I’m sitting here with a glass of red at half past 4 in the afternoon. I could feel guilty, but I don’t. That’s what holidays are for, no? My boy is cooking up a Greek storm in the kitchen. He’s ever-such-a-goodun. The most productive thing I have done today is empty the wardrobe, clean it, and put everything back into it in ever-such an orderly fashion. My wardrobe now looks like a completed maths puzzle. My best thing.

But! But now. I have realised it. The crucial thing. I have nothing to wear! I have no clothes of any substance. I looked at so many of my things and thought “if I saw this in a shop today I would not buy it, so why am I still wearing it?” I have been brutal. The bin is full. And it’s all clean and tidy and smelling of polish and there are empty hangers. It’s a very inviting place for new garments, if any should wish to find their way into it. The boy’s side is looking a little sparse too (I was brutal with his side too, but it’s fine, he won’t even notice) so what better time to go shopping? Run for your life, debit card.

So anyway, apart from the life-altering clothes crisis (let’s face it, that happens all the time, but since we are on the brink of a new season I’m allowed to attach more importance to it this time) today is a good day. We’ve been listening to Bob Dylan’s self-titled album on the turntable. That makes me happy. I’m pretty sure the spinach and feta pie and Greek salad will do a very good job at making me happy too.

Here’s the Bob cover. I really love it. It’s promises nothing and yet gives it all.