There comes a time

When the housework can't be ignored any more.

I have come across a fair bit of discussion around this of late. I think it must be Spring. Those first gleams of sunshine coming through the windows...or trying to. And failing, because the accumulated crud of the last twelve months since the previous spring prevents any meaningful passage. So, friends, bloggers, we are all dancing around the topic.

One of my class members, a delightful older woman, told me on Friday that she only does it when it impinges itself on her consciousness, when, in fact, she realises that it actually needs doing. I thought at the time that this was quite a sensible approach. Over the weekend, my abode was throwing itself at me screaming, we were both screaming, we can't stand it any longer..So today, I started cleaning. Now, this is something that I HATE to do, with the possible exception of times like this when the baseline is so indescribably bad that whatever I do makes a huge improvement and I can kid myself for a day or two that I live in a sparkling palace that is not actually a health hazard. This is not deep-clean, you understand. It is one hundred percent better than earlier today, but do not go venturing off the marked trails. And this is only downstairs, upstairs remains to be crept up on. (Except, for those of you who are by now feeling extremely queasy, in the case of the bathroom, where I do wield cloths and chemicals on a regular basis. And the top of the cooker. Especially when I have spilt dye solutions on there...)

How many of us say that we do not do housework, and mean it? Most people's homes that I visit look more than presentable. I can think of a couple of instances when , in one case, the place did look grubby, and another where because of the lifetime collection of fascinating things, there was no way in which the inhabitants could ever have cleaned. And no, I am not going to tell you who either of them were!

So, possibly we all do the "OhMyGod, there's company coming" blue-arsed fly routine (Me! Me!) Or - we have cleaners. Now, I used to subscribe to the "everyone should clear up their own mess" philosophy until I realised that this only seemed to apply to part of the household. (The mogs were exceptionally bad at getting the vac and duster out.) So I have had cleaners a couple of times, and bliss was it in those dawns to be alive. It was so worth getting up early in order to rush around tidying up before the cleaner came. But one returned to University, one disappeared up her own pyramid investment scam and the other got a better full-time job elsewhere, and good for her. So now I'm back to saying that I don't do housework, wondering if so-and-so really doesn't do it, and begrudging every minute when I actually do it.

But I have found a few minutes to play:


Not a brilliant photo, but it's going to look pretty, I think.

gw