Lesley suffers from 'Decision Fatigue'

'Leave me alone – just make everything out of leopard-print fur...'

Decisions, decisions and more decisions. The recent rain has meant that instead of being able to crack on with bits of the build that require dry weather, Darren-the-builder has put 'Plan B' into action and focused his attention on getting us to make decisions about all manner of pesky but nevertheless crucial things.

What kind of metal finish should the window fittings have? Should the roof lantern be painted or varnished? Where should the switches for the outside lights go? Do the exterior lights on the front of the house need to be carriage lamps and, if so, do we want them in black iron, brass or stainless steel?

I know that each of these things deserves a considered and measured answer – it's pointless getting everything fitted, only to decide that you've made some big mistakes. But I'm suffering from decision fatigue. Every time I load the washing machine or make lunch for the kids, I bump into Husband hovering right behind me, waving a scintillating electrical component catalogue of some kind. I have to fight back the urge to shout, 'Leave me alone – just make everything out of leopard-print fur!'

The garden is filling up with sample slabs of stone and slate as we try to decide exactly what to put down, both inside on the ground floor and outside on the terraces. We're trying to keep the colours as similar as possible, but all the external ones, when placed next to the interior slabs, take on the shade of three-day-old porridge. I'm sure passers-by must think we're starting our own creepy little cemetery – no wonder they all seem to sprint past on the opposite side of the road as the slab count rises.

We need to choose a worktop material for the kitchen pretty pronto, too. The kitchen designer has given us the address of the stonemason he uses for all his worktops, so I suspect that Saturday might involve an hour or two spent in close inspection of various slabs of slate and granite. Amusingly, for no apparent reason, the kitchen designer has decided that I'm called Claire and he's now used the name so often that I haven't the heart to correct him. Anyway, like my Mum always used to say, 'You can call me anything you like – just don't call me late for lunch.'

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