We had a busy gender-stereotype day today, doing jobs. I spent the morning stripping wallpaper in the smallest bedroom (which is to become the nursery if I can pull my finger out and get it finished). Anne changed the bedding, did some washing and put washing away, made bacon butties for brekkie, cleaned the bathroom, stewed some (home-grown) rhubarb, and roasted some (home-grown) tomatoes to make pasta sauce.
Yes, that sounds like Anne did loads more than me, but mine was one big job and hers were lots of smaller jobs. Stop nagging me.
After lunch (soup, for those who care) we went to a "nearly new sale" run by the NCT (National Childbirth Trust) to see what sort of things you can buy there (we weren't intending to buy anything - just looking). We'd only been there a few minutes when it became clear that Anne had a bad attitude and wasn't going to be much use. She got all hormonal (something that she never used to get before she got pregnant and so finds it particularly hard to deal with) and ended up in tears. She announced she didn't think she could cope with kids and would rather be living in London and drinking in All Bar One after work.
In order to make her feel better I took her to a local garden centre and bought her some new gardening gloves. That did the trick.
Anne later said she didn't mean it about All Bar One.