The floor is done

and I can look at faux wooden floor boards with pleasure. They do look like the real thing except on very close examination.
Now, I am aware that this floor covering would not suit everyone. I am looking forward to merely having to sweep it rather than vacuum it. When someone invents a vaccuum cleaner that (a) we can afford, (b) is not a monstrosity I can barely lift from the place in which it lurks and (c) does not make a noise like a jumbo jet on take-off then I might manage to tolerate doing the task. I will never enjoy it.
I have to get the books back on the shelves but that can be done over the next few days. I am in no hurry. The only books I need to move quickly are those stacked around the ironing board so that someone else can have his favourite shirt. It's not much to ask.
Perhaps all this exercise (?) is keeping me warm. The neighbours have had their air-conditioning running constantly since Easter. We have not used ours, not even the little bar-radiator. Mind you, at present there are books around that too.
Perhaps the books are keeping us warm.