Bills

I'm generally not a forgetful person. I manage to juggle work, a child, an almost entirely domestically incompetent husband (who, as an aside, it appears cannot make pancakes, even with the help of a recipe, three ingredients and a whisk proving too much for him) and keep a reasonably tidy house. I remember to call my mother (although don't always remember to wait until after The Archers) to feed the fish and the rabbits, to make my packed lunch and to keep on top of the washing.

I am intrigued then as to how I didn't notice we'd managed to escape paying the milkman since August 2007. He presented the bill proudly last night. Two pints a week for almost 18 months (minus holidays, we haven't been avoiding him, we leave him little notes when we're going to be away) came to £69. My husband gulped. 'It'll have to be a cheque, is that OK?'. It's a good job it was, because if I'm honest we don't usually have £6.90 in the house in cash on regular basis, never mind ten times that amount. Thank goodness he doesn't charge interest!

So perhaps I am not as efficient as, at first glance, I pretend to be. Hiding behind the door I've noticed a fluttering white slip which suggests we also owe the window cleaner for more than a few weeks. Note to self, supporting local businesses only works if you actually pay them.

The shame!