I had nothing specific I actually wanted to do.
My choices were these:
Tackle the ironing pile, this I hasten to add isn't my actual pile of ironing mine is at least neatly-ish folded awaiting it's date with the iron (my house doesn't contain an unhealthy collection of pictures of Roses either I assure you, floral and I just do not gel).
It shouldn't take Einstein to figure out I chose the latter.
I just want to say that should my marriage to Rob come to an untimely end either through some tragedy or the fact that he scarpered with Catherine Zeta Jones or Liz Hurley when the opportunity presented itself I want to marry Matthew McConaughey next.
Due to my lack of diligence in the ironing department he'd no doubt be forced to exist in a shirtless state.
But I could live with that. It's not a big deal.