Big stink

The whole house reeks with a stench somewhat akin to burning rubber sweetly mingled with dead rat. Mr Grumpy is cleaning out the pipes at the back of the washing machine and dishwasher. I have had to open the windows and now a gale is flapping all the paperwork on my desk and I am freezing.

The trouble with living with Mr G is that his insistence on 'my house, I'll do what I want in it when I want' means I am always the loser. He didn't tell me he was about to create a stink otherwise I could have closed the door in the hallway and be typing in fragrant warmth instead of shivering in front of open windows with a scarf around my face. Another trouble with it being Mr G's house is that I never get any 'me time'. This morning he woke me at 7.25 am banging the front door and driving to Sainsbury's. I leapt up and tried six times to ring him to tell him what I needed from Sainsbury's - not much, just a bag of salad, a tin of soup, some tomatoes and some milk. I left him a voicemail. When he came in, he told me he hadn't got it as his phone was on silent, so I have to go out in the rain and get my own stuff - and still pay half for the things he got which I didn't want.

While he was out, not knowing how long he'd be, I settled on the sofa to watch A Place In the Sun which I'd recorded last night as he wanted to watch CSI. Fifteen minutes in, just as I was nicely relaxed with tea and toast, he came crashing back in demanding tea instantly and insisting on telling me about a special offer on chicken breasts, when all I wanted to do was continue peacefully watching my programme. My private viewing times are restricted to when he has gone to bed, and by that time I'm tired myself and don't want to stay up for another hour. This relationship just isn't working. But then, it never did. I knew 12 years ago that living with him didn't work for me, and probably not for him, either. But now I'm getting desperate for my own space, a sanctuary where I can play the music I haven't played for years as he always has his hits from the Sixties on (how many times can you listen to Do-Wa Diddy Diddy without wanting to commit murder?), and watch programmes I'd like to watch, or sit quietly on the sofa reading a book. I can't wait.