I had no ideas what to write about this morning so took a trawl through last year’s November posts. Apart from a lot of stuff about Nano, it’s a reminder of life before Covid, a time when we still hoped Boris Johnson might not be Prime Minister, a time when Leonard Cohen released his first posthumous album and when – ta-da! – the lifesaving, lipsmackin’, crockery-cleanin’, labour-savin’, utterly wonderful and brilliant dishwasher was delivered. It was a real boon for me since OH does most of the cooking which meant I was in charge of washing up. There were piles of it every day and never enough space; it was the bane of my life. Although in principle I’m opposed to acquiring too many gadgets a dishwasher is about the most liberating thing you can have if like me you’re in a household of four where one person is incapacitated, one is excused because they’re the cook and the other needs so much cajoling that it’s easier to just do it yourself.
Meanwhile 2020 has been the year of living safely: not going out, not seeing people, wearing masks and gloves and endlessly, endlessly washing our hands. Seriously, I’m amazed mine haven’t dropped off.
There – I did find something to write about. The French have a saying: en mangeant, l’appetit vient’ – it is in eating that the appetite comes. Just so: it is in writing that the ideas come.
Stay safe – I’ll leave you with a news item that brightened my morning:
Kirk out
Sarada Gray 
I had a dishwasher [no jokes] when I was married; the second time; but since being single again [although the surveys I fill out for {very little} money insist I classify myself as ‘divorced/separated: whatever] I haven’t had space in the rented properties I’ve occupied for one. I’m not complaining, particularly: I have the time, and hand washing can be quite therapeutic, in its own way. Cheers, Jon.
Sure. If I lived alone I wouldn’t have one either.
My dishwasher seems to operate one day a week at best, and tends to do so frantically just prior to visitors being due.
Fair enough