Paying for the pleasure

If I were one of those clever enough to attach an audio file here - which I am not - you would at this moment be hearing one of those loud, prolonged, gusty exhalations of breath that result from finally finishing a (usually) hated task just short of killing yourself.

Are you ready for this? For the very first time in the history of this blog I have cleaned the cooker. And from there went on to swab down all, and I do mean all, bar the floor (tomorrow!)surfaces in the kitchen. The DSM will arrive home tonight and be knocked down by the chemical smell. The heavy duty chemical smell. No eco alternatives, or plain hot water for superslut.

Let us backtrack. Yesterday, I had no power all day, due to a replacement of poles situation. No, not Eastern European plumbers, although I could do with one of those. A power line carrying pole in our sleepy hollow had been deemed Too Short. So, 8.30 am, arrived the cherry pickers and the lorries bearing poles, and a lot of men in very serious looking harnesses and hard hats, and at 10am off went the juice.

Now, in this modern age, there is not too much in the way of domestic choring that can go on without a huge amount of preplanning sans the electric. I did consider sweeping the kitchen floor and then washing it, but we need electricity to make the gas hot water system work - no immersion - so, that was out. As was vaccing, ironing - ok, so not dusting, but whatever is the point of dusting if you aren't going to spiff up the rest, eh.

No computer, either - now, that is serious.

That gave a girl an entire day with ipod, spinning wheel and knitting needles. Oh dear. Such hardship.

Right, on to evening and meal preparation, involving the bottom oven. Which would not light. So I get to grovelling on my knees up close and personal to find out why (lack of power related, and soon sorted, since you ask). This meant that my nose was pressed close to the interior of the oven. Ew. It may have self-cleaning linings, but the only word for it that is repeatable was - ew. Yes, my dears, even I, superslut herself, Could Not Stand It A Day Longer. Hence this morning's labours. Hence the loudness and gustiness.

(I have a lineful of clean dusters, too.)

And now, I get to do real stuff. Back to the beads today, perhaps.

I deserve it.