Tag Archives: Cleaning

I’ve Got A Cloth And I’m Not Afraid To Use It

27 Sep
Large Brown Mantis cleaning itself

Image via Wikipedia

Exciting developments!  The units and counters are in and covered in dust; I have a night of cleaning ahead.  Hooray!

The Glum Housewife

24 Sep
A Marinade for Chicken Tikka

Image via Wikipedia


The plasterer has been and gone and all that remains of him is dust. 

Tory Boy has been to London and back and gone on ahead to Lancaster and all that remains of him is a mound of dirty washing and a room full of necessaries. 

The Hub has been to Painsville and back because the anti-inflammatories are now against the law and his chest infection has acquired squatters’ rights.  He was going to drive TB to uni today but he’s too unwell; he will follow with the necessaries when he can.  He will drive only; I will load the car and TB will off-load it.  The Hub also has a banging migraine, compounded by guilt at letting his son down. 

Spud Bud has gone to tea with his best friend because he’s bored with microwaved meals.  As are we all: home-made potato hash warmed up on Wednesday; Chicken Tikka in a box yesterday – tasty but anathema to me: I can’t see a frozen meal without getting a nervous tic.  I might be a lousy chef but at least it’s all home-cooked inedibles.  There’s bound to be some nutrition in there somewhere. 

The electricians left my stove connected but it was a waste of time because I made the mistake of cleaning it before they arrived and I think water leaked in somewhere and now the power trips if I put any of the rings on.  The oven still works but I’m taking bets on how long it will be before I kill that too. 

I don’t have any kitchen units or counters and my washing machine and dishwasher are not plumbed in.  So, a weekend of sitting around doing nothing is in order.  Woopdeyawndo.  On the plus side, my magazine pile is now down as far as May: Chico is predicting England will win the World Cup and the country is anxious that Rooney might do himself an injury before it starts. 

Today’s silver lining, sort of: I have discovered something astonishing – I am not as dirty as I think I am.  I find that I cannot write in a mess and the house is upside down inside out messy at the moment, so I sit at the computer playing games and can’t enjoy even that because it’s not as much fun without the pressure that I should be doing housework or writing.  I haven’t written a poem in days and I miss it. 

Signed, Self Pitying of Stockport 




Tilly Enchanted

22 Sep
River Mersey, Stockport. Looking downstream fr...

Image via Wikipedia


Now that the contents of my kitchen are spread around the house like an oil slick, with every room – including all three bedrooms – doubling as a cupboard/larder/cook’s depository, I have nothing to do except recover from a week’s worth of cleaning.  I can’t believe how much dust there is in the world.  I can’t believe how much of that dust is in my house: I sliced through one dust bunny to find thirteen rings.  The grime was behind the fridge, the washing machine, the dishwasher, the microwave…I don’t know whether to clean more often or just throw away my appliances.   I discovered my lost cd player under a seal of grease and dirt.  I don’t want it to happen again so I have decided to give up cooking; my friend Becky says the simplest solutions are the best.   

The weatherman having promised today was the last warm day of the year, I took the dogs for a walk along the Mersey – though famous for Liverpool it starts in Stockport, about five minutes from my house.  It was wonderful: bumble bees buzzed in the sunlight; butterflies tangoed around my shoulder; a weasel winked as it crossed my path, then crossed back again; a blackbird gave me a command performance; a squirrel scolded the dogs; and berries in the bushes bobbed in the breeze.  As I tripped amongst the fly clouds hovering over the dog turds and flattened slugs, and avoided slipping on a mouse corpse, I felt like Stockport’s own Disney princess.  It’s quite possible that feeling will continue through the night because I’ve lost a tin of peas and my mattress is looking rather lumpy. 


View from a footbridge


My kitchen refurb began at precisely fifteen hundred hours this p.m. and ended at precisely fifteen-twenty hours.  Three men came in, laid protective floor covering, ripped out the counters and cupboards, and left.  The council promised my refurb would start on Wednesday 22nd September, and they didn’t let me down.  What they didn’t say was that they’d be working in twenty-minute increments.  It’s going to be a long, long month. 

Note the famous Stockport viaduct in the background and the famous Stockport rubbish in the trees


How To Look Like A Hard-Working Housewife While Hardly Working At All

15 Sep
Reinigen van suède schoenen / Cleaning suede shoes

Image by Nationaal Archief via Flickr


Some not-actually-cleaning tips for you: 

  • Throw a throw over the couch, chairs, toy box in the corner; you’ll look both clean and as if you have interior design aspirations
  • Leave the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room; if anyone asks/visits, you were just about to use it
  • No shoes allowed in the house.  No shoes = no dirt = no need to leave the vacuum cleaner cluttering up the lounge
  • If you are expecting guests and can’t be bothered to dust, spray some air freshener and visitors will think you just did
  • If you must dust, laddered tights and socks make excellent cloths; to save time and laundry, dust while you’re wearing them and then throw straight into the bin
  • Women: don’t get married.  According to many studies, once women marry they do twice the amount of housework as their spouses
  • Men: get married (see previous point)
  • Wear the same clothes every day; eventually they will walk off by themselves, giving you an excuse to buy something new
  • Hang creased clothing in the bathroom/shower room; the steam will help remove the creases
  • Wear only nylon – no ironing, plus the excitement/terror of knowing you could be shocked at any time of the day or night
  • Lower your standards; answer all complaints with Studies have proved that exposing children to germs reduces the risk of asthma and similar conditions;  are you trying to turn me into a bad mother?
  • If you can afford it, pay someone else to do it and stifle your left-leaning guilt: you have just created a job in a world-wide recession
  • Only tidy the room you use.  Once all rooms in your home have been used, move

If you have any tips of your own I’d love to hear them. 

On the subject of cleaning, I took possession of a real eBay bargain yesterday:  £2.50 for a mop, bucket, brush, dustpan and brush, cloths & scrubbing brush.  I don’t know when I’ll ever use them, but it’s nice to have them in the house.  






















Sidetrack Sindy

9 Sep
The current Sindy doll looks younger than prev...

Image via Wikipedia

The Hub calls me Sidetrack Sindy; not because I’m a doll but because

Yesterday he told me just after eleven p.m. that it was 8/9/10 11:12.

Where was I?  Oh yes, being slandered by my husband, who claims that I’m easily sidetracked.  It’s raining outside.

I don’t know why he thinks I’m easily distracted.  Hang on, just going to make a cup of tea; back in a jiffy.  Or maybe go on King.com first.

I’ll share this morning’s routine and you can decide for yourself:

The two things I must do today are – no, wait; three things: put out the rubbish and recycling; prepare the Hub’s pills for the next fortnight; and um, <drinks tea> <looks around the house> my hallway looks so fresh now.

So I got Spud up for school; made his breakfast; called Toby to put out the rubbish with me (he likes doing that); put out the rubbish at the front; came in to put out the recycling at the back; left the bin in the middle of the street as I ran around the house to find the dog I had forgotten to bring back in with me; tidied the lounge; loaded the dishwasher; went back out to put the recycling bin in the correct spot; loaded the dishwasher; oh, I also got dressed somewhere in there because I only put out in the rubbish in my pyjamas in winter because it’s dark and I can put on my huge overcoat.

I am quite looking forward to winter; I love the changing seasons in this country.  In South Africa it’s dark at seven in summer and six in winter and there’s no autumn to speak of.

What was I talking about?  My routine: had my breakfast; read my emails; tidied the lounge; made the Hub’s coffee; got out his pill boxes to prepare them after taking up his coffee and bringing down the washing; tidied the lounge; took up the coffee; emptied all the washing baskets; went into bathroom to turn up the hot water; brushed my teeth; came downstairs without washing; took up the post; opened the bedroom windows; chatted to the Hub; came down and went straight onto computer to comment on other blogs; went back upstairs with a written note pasted to my wrist to make sure I came down with the washing; wondered why I bothered because I can’t run the washing machine and dishwasher at the same time; tidied the lounge; admired the ra

Short break there while I let in the Hub and the roses he bought me; did I mention the Hub went for a blood test and Spud went to school somewhere in all this lot?  Sat down to write my blog and the Hub came down to go out for his blood test and asked me sweetly if I had prepared his tablets and that’s when we had a heated discussion about whether I am easily

Here’s a poem for Carry On Tuesday; the prompt was the first line of Huckleberry Finn, which I have taken as the title.  It is mostly not autobiographical, though I do have a thing about fleas. 

You Don’t Know About Me

I want to star in a movie
Publish a poetry book
Live in the Bahamas
Completely change my look
Electrocute my nose hairs
Learn business Japanese
Just once say the right thing
Stop catching my dog’s fleas

I want a season ticket to the Globe
An extra hole in my ear lobe
Respond with wit to those who probe
Attend an affair that requires a robe

I’m sad that you don’t know
The places I want to go
The friends I want to make
The risks I want to take
The things I want to do
With and without you

Then, when I am almost dead
I’ll recall the life I’ve led
Relive it in my head
And laugh on my death-bed

An Utter Declutter

31 Aug
Garden shed

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We have a lot of stuff; we’ve always had a lot of stuff.  It didn’t matter in South Africa when the Hub had a warehouse attached to his office: we stored everything there and our home looked lovely; it’s not so great now that we live in a three-bed council house.  Part of the problem is that we hang on to things we might need later on, like every plug from every defunct appliance we’ve ever owned – bearing in mind that it is a legal requirement that every appliance sold in this country must come with an integrated plug, it’s like letting your older children leave home but keeping their feet in case the next one you give birth to needs spare tootsies.  Okay, that’s ridiculous; but so is hanging on to twenty-five years’ worth of electric waste.

Having built and filled our garden shed twelve years ago, the stars finally conjoined yesterday to give us sunshine, everybody home with nothing to do, and me in a we can do this if we only gird our loins and get on with it mood.  I needed to empty the shed (not the one pictured, but a good facsimile) so that I have somewhere to store the clutter from the kitchen (it must be emptied before they give me a new one).  The clutter in the kitchen came from the hall when I painted it.  The clutter in the hall came from the lounge when I painted it.  The clutter in the lounge came from my inability to tie the Hub to his chair and never let him shop.  I didn’t have the heart to put the clutter back in the lounge because I was able to see every wall for the first time since Spud was born.  I have been shuffling utter crap from room to room for months, and yesterday I decided it must STOP.





Tilly couldn't understand where the mess was coming from...



My family hate when that happens because it means work for them, and they weren’t wrong.  We sat the Hub in a comfy chair on the back step so that he could supervise the chucking-out and tell us what he really needed to keep: spare parts for his never-used scooter (we’re building our own ark here in Stockport) could stay because they will come in handy in 2027 when it is forecast we will finally have a dry summer and the scooter will need de-rusting; but three huge electric typewriters and seventeen pieces of mouldy mdf were defintely out.  A box full of baby toys might have stayed if the boys were ready to make me a grandmother, but I didn’t want to encourage them so they went on the skip pile.  An old tent we got from Freecycle last year was finally opened up to see if it was of any use.  It was: I now have waterproof bicycle and braai covers, albeit bright purple, and three groundsheets.  I couldn’t prise a Linguaphone box of 78s from the Hub’s crying arms, but I did manage to sneak out a couple of motorbike forks and carpet offcuts from a carpet we no longer have, when he was stroking the vinyl and saying Ciao, bella to himself.

We finished up with several piles:

  • for the council skip (coming next week)
  • recycling (how many fly-blown cardboard boxes do we really need?)
  • Freegling (the beauty of decluttering on a public holiday is that people are free to collect straightaway)
  • charity (the van happened to be coming this morning)
  • to sell (to pay for my broken nails)
  • might come in handy at some point if the Hub can hide them from me

We moved the stuff in the house that we really wanted to keep into the shed, where it will no doubt stay for another twelve years until we get our next sunny day.  The kitchen isn’t quite cleared but it’s getting there.  The hall isn’t quite cleared but it’s getting there.  The lounge – well, you get the idea.  I’m doing my best and if it sometimes feels as if I’m holding back an avalanche with sheer will and a roll of bin bags, at least it gives me something to blog about.

I Googled ‘declutter’ and I came across some excellent tips; I will give you the best ones and the sites they came from:


  • Declutter for 15 minutes every day. It’s amazing how much you can get through if you just do it in small increments like this.
  • Whenever you’re boiling the kettle for tea, tidy up the kitchen. If the kitchen is tidy, tidy up the next room – it’s only 3 minutes but it keeps you on top of everything (helps if you have an Englishman’s obsession with Tea as well!)
  • The One-Year Box. Take all your items that you unsure about getting rid of (e.g. “I might need this someday…”), put them in a box, seal it and date it for 1 year in the future. When the date comes, and you still didn’t need to open it to get anything, donate the box WITHOUT OPENING IT. You probably won’t even remember what there was in the box.


  • Create a “maybe” box. Sometimes when you’re going through a pile of stuff, you know exactly what to keep (the stuff you love and use) and what to trash or donate. But then there’s the stuff you don’t use, but think you might want it or need it someday. You can’t bear to get rid of that stuff! So create a “maybe” box, and put this stuff there. Then store the box somewhere hidden, out of the way. Put a note on your calendar six months from now to look in the box. Then pull it out, six months later, and see if it’s anything you really needed. Usually, you can just dump the whole box, because you never needed that stuff.
  • Pull everything out of a drawer. Just take the drawer out and empty it on a table. Then sort the drawer into three piles: 1) stuff that really should go in the drawer; 2) stuff that belongs elsewhere; 3) stuff to get rid of. Clean the drawer out nice, then put the stuff in the first pile back neatly and orderly. Deal with the other piles immediately!


  • BE BRAVE  Most people find it hard to throw away stuff, but you can’t attach sentimental value to everything you own.  When your house is cluttered, nothing looks good. So, as you go through your possessions, ask yourself which of them you actually love or use. If not, why not?  Maybe it’s a wedding present you secretly hate, a dress that doesn’t suit you. Let it go.
  • MAKE A MESS  To clear up your home, you have to turn it into a proverbial bombsite first.  The best de-cluttering method is to pull every single item from your shelves, drawers and cupboards and lay it all out so you can see exactly what everything is.  This tactic works well for clearing out your wardrobe; as well as gathering rags to chuck, you’ll ‘re-find’ clothes you’d forgotten about.


  • This is my favourite: Start today  Procrastination is the major obstacle to decluttering.  So start now.




Smotherly Love

11 Aug

It’s all a matter of perspective:

For me, fatigue + aches + sleep problems = CFS/ME. 

For the doctor, sleep problems = fatigue + aches. 

Tory Boy is absolutely fine and just needs a regular bedtime and a regular getting up time.  Funny how a child accepts from a stranger what he won’t hear from his parents.  See what happens when that child leaves the care of his doting mother?  Hysteria on the part of the woman who gave birth and lost her waist to him.  I wasn’t gaining a son, I was losing the ability to fit in to a size eight.  Oh, alright: twelve.

My son’s health is of secondary concern to me now that I’ve had the best news I’ve had in years: I’m getting my new kitchen & bathroom in September!  The Hub’s veiled threat to the council to call in the big gun (our MP) obviously did the trick because the prettiest lady and the handsomest man I e’er did see arrived at my house yesterday to give me the news and help me choose colours.

I was walking the dogs when they called and the Hub faced a dilemma: he couldn’t get hold of me by phone so should he send them away or choose the colours himself?  Deciding he would rather live with my displeasure than with broken legs, he chained them to the sofa and was debating the relative merits of speckled over mottled and light beech over dark beech when I got back.  He is my favourite person in the world – after the council’s golden couple, of course.

He was my favourite person, until he started casting aspersions on my approach to housewifely duties: I was washing the floor last night and he asked me why I was bothering when I was going to have a new one in six weeks.  Plaster cast, anyone?


The Reason I Don’t Do Housework…

27 Jun

…is moths. I don’t do mops because of moths; I don’t do cloths because of moths. Moths are just nighttime butterflies. I saw a daytime butterfly (aka, ‘a butterfly’) last week; it was minute, about the size of my little fingernail. If you saw my delicate hands you’d be impressed with just how small this butterfly was. It was tiny. I said to the Hub that it must be a baby butterfly and he agreed with me. In his defence, he wasn’t really listening. It took my fourteen-year old son to remind me that there are no baby butterflies; well, there are, but they’re called ‘caterpillars’.

I’m not afraid of moths. Apart from the monster ones dressed in metal that we met while driving through the night from Jo’burg to Durban. It was Margate really, but if I wrote Margate you’d wonder how we got from South Africa to England overnight by car and it would be one of those enduring mysteries, like how did Frankenstein’s Monster travel weeks by ship without being detected despite being eight feet tall and made of spare body parts? Then I’d have to explain that there is a Margate in South Africa, probably named after the British Margate, and that would take too long.

Moths are despised because they fold their wings; they tuck them neatly away. Butterflies basically prop their wings up like unused skis; and have you seen the way they discard their winter coats? Our house in South Africa had stipple on the outside walls and the caterpillars would crawl up to rub themselves out of their skin. V. untidy.

So, butterflies are sloppy little bugs and everyone loves them. Moths keep themselves nicely presented and get squashed to oblivion by nervous slobs wielding bulky newspapers. Not wanting to be slapped around the face by The Sunday Telegraph unless I’ve had a cracking good row with the Hub and I have a telephone directory in my hands for retaliation, I decided dirt was the safer option.


I’d like to thank the moth who visited me in my bathroom tonight for this post. I couldn’t have done it without you and I’m sorry I accidentally flattened you when I shooed you out of the window. At least butterflies keep sociable hours.

I’d also like to clear the Hub’s name: he is far too scared of me to raise a paper to me.

A Day Of Firsts

1 Jun

Today is the 1st of June. It is the first day of my work placement; the first time I have been out to work in twenty years; the first day I have been married for twenty-five years; the first time both of our boys have not been here to share our anniversary.

It is also a day of seconds: the second day of the week; the second set of twenty-five years in my marriage, and a second clock – this time, without a second hand.

Let me explain: when the Hub was the Fiance, I mentioned one day that I had always wanted a carriage clock. He promised to buy one for me when we were married. On our wedding day, he sent me a gold carriage clock, a single red rose, and a card that I have kept to this day. He also sent flowers for my Mum and a card to my parents, thanking them for me. The clock has been in every lounge I’ve lived in but is packed away at the moment, because of the decorating I did a few months back. I don’t like ornaments (apart from my clock and one another; more anon) because they gather dust and I have to clean them. The clock mechanism failed a few years ago and the Hub fixed it but it gave up the ghost again, so I set it at the time we got married – 3:25* – and gave it over to the dust bunnies.

*The wedding was supposed to start at three but I was a bit late, because I was starving and I stopped to make toast half an hour before I was due to leave for the church. I was a (UK) size 6 in those days; hard to believe, isn’t it?

This morning, I found what I thought was a jewellery box waiting for me but when I opened it, it contained a dinky little (working) carriage clock. It would have been silver but he couldn’t find one; I don’t mind because it matches my other one.

The Hub had also cut out 25 hearts from red foam and written a number for each year on each one. He’s such a romantic. It makes the kids sick.

Which leads me nicely into more anon: the only other ornament I like – love, actually – is a bunch of flowers made of metal and coloured stones, that Tory Boy bought for me a couple of years ago. It is pretty in a non-girly way; just how I like it. It represents the balance of power in this house. Spud and the Hub were throwing a ball in the lounge and I told them to mind my ornament. Spud pointed out that we’ve had loads of ornaments in the house over the years and his Dad had never broken any by throwing a ball so that made him the Boss (no, I don’t know what goes on in his head either). I asked Spud to look around and point out all the ornaments he could see that belong to his Dad. That soon wiped the smile off his face. All ornaments except my flowers are in boxes in the loft. The Hub buys something he likes and I tolerate it until it begins to crumble under the weight of a thousand sun sprinkles, and it gets packed away, ready to go in the Hub’s coffin with him one day. He’s going to need a coffin that works like the Tardis for me to fit them all in.

And there you have it, proof that she who wields the duster rules the world.

By the way, before you get to thinking I’m horrible, the Hub posted on my Facebook wall today that I was Goose to his Maverick, which effectively makes me the dead bald guy who slept with Meg Ryan.

And guess what I gave him for our anniversary? An ornament! A meerkat that has ‘I love dust’ written in sun sprinkles all over it. In a moment of weakness brought upon me by a rare glass of wine, I even promised, unprompted, not to pack it away when he wasn’t looking. I reckon I earned my 25 hearts; don’t you?

A Good Day

22 Apr

Good fun yesterday at Housewives ‘r’ Us: we had a debate on the relative merits of employment versus unemployment. The consensus seemed to be that the number one reason any of us wanted to work was to escape the kids. Second was money, because it enabled us to bribe them to let us go.

I have to say I am really enjoying the daily routine of having to shower, catch a bus and take a packed lunch. It’s nice to have a reason to get up in the morning besides beat my best score. I have been floundering a little since graduating; I just don’t have enough to do and housework has never interested me beyond straightening the cushions in the lounge. I am really hopeful that this will lead to a job. I hear the hospital is looking for cleaners.



Day 20’s prompt was ‘perfectly flawed’.  I’m going to paste part of it here because I like the story: In ancient times, Persian rug makers were deeply religious and believed that only God could make something perfect. They would deliberately drop in a small faulty stitch, a flaw, into each Persian rug. In doing so, a ‘Persian Flaw’ revealed the rug maker’s devotion to God — Karel Weijand.  Yesterday was a good day and I got a senryu out of it; I had to really think to find the flaw because I was happy, but I have a good standby; see if you can spot it:


A Perfect Afternoon


No money, but sun,

my love, and the hope of what

may come.  Contentment.


Two Bits

23 Mar

We had a good laugh tonight. Just as we were about to sit down to dinner, the Hub’s mobile rang. The Hub was washing his hands so I answered, thinking it would be Tory Boy because he is the only person who phones his Dad, Hubbynomates. No, it was one of those overseas cold callers, trying to not sell us debt relief. Unfortunately, I was too slow to hang up when I heard the giveaway pause so I was stuck listening to him. Unless I am in a rare foul mood, I can’t be rude to these annoying people who are just trying to make a living.

Hearing my uninterested ‘Uh-huh’s and noticing the tears running down my cheeks as my dinner went cold, the Hub tipped me the wink and suddenly began screaming, ‘You think you can steal my phone and get away with it I’ll show you,’ along with thud and punch sound effects. Next thing I know, I’m screaming as if he’s beating me up.

What did our cold caller do? He hung up! No policeman called or came to our door to arrest the Hub and cart me off in ambulance. I could have done with one; it hurt to laugh so much.


I have been having a dopey couple of weeks. I noticed this morning that the fabric softener I have been using is, in fact, soap powder. I call it ‘soap powder’ because no-one knows what I mean when I say ‘soap liquid.’ Whatever it is, it can’t be very good quality because I have obviously been rinsing my clothes by washing them again, and there’s no residue that we’ve noticed. That’s 99p I won’t see again.

Past Notes

24 Jan

I’m still busy with the Big Clean – hence the late post – but it has turned up a few gems, like a set of jewellery I thought I had lost, and an old notebook. It’s not a notebook like my present notebooks (no writing in it), but it has newspaper clippings stuck in that I collected over a couple of years. I thought I would share a few of them with you. Being uneducated at that point, I didn’t always think to quote the source, but I will do my best. I don’t think it’s plagiarism because I am telling you before I start that I did not write them.


I’m starting with an apposite cartoon called Wright Angles, from a South African newspaper, probably the Johannesburg Star, in the early Nineties:

Toady: I hope you’ll excuse the way our kitchen looks. It’s a mess.

Friend: Well, you know what they say, Toady. “A woman’s work is never done.”

Toady: In my mother’s case, it’s because she never does it.

From The Star, 24/10/95:


  • Don’t repeat yourself over and over again
  • No verbless sentences
  • Elliptical circumlocutions obfuscate substantive meaning
  • Collective nouns is always a singular subject for the verb
  • Tautology is a huge great big error
  • Foreign language usage is de trop
  • Classical allusions are as useless as the labours of Sisyphus
  • Probably, generally speaking, the problem in most writing is, in the main part, the frequently encountered inability of most writers to make a definite point succinctly
  • Journalese stinks
  • Motivate leveraged-up empowerment with politically correct buzzwords

I think this next one might have come from The Sunday Telegraph, but I’m not certain of it and I don’t know the date or who wrote it. I kept it because the last bit makes me laugh out loud:

I hugely enjoyed the leading article in Thursday’s Guardian, entitled “Vote him out”. But who were the paper’s reader’s being advised to vote against? Why, Slobodan Milosevic. I was not aware that the newspaper had many readers among the Yugoslav electorate. And if it does, I wonder how they would respond to the advice from 119 Farringdon Road, EC1, which was that they should accept Mr Milosevic’s request for a second ballot in the presidential elections (he having failed to rig the first one properly). The Guardian‘s stern exhortation reminds me of the leader from a provincial Irish newspaper in 1914: “We give this solemn warning to Kaiser Wilhelm: The Skibereen Eagle has its eye on you.”

Getting Into A Bit Of A Lather

23 Jan

Derr Fourteen in the Big Bother House and Tilly Bud declares she’s givin’ up cleanin’ for goodd.  All pictures, bedside drawers and crushed ironin’ will stay in the big double cupboard on the landin’; the Christmas decorations remain in the bath.  Nor-one in the House has had a bath since Monday mornin’ and the stench is slowly becomin’ visible.  Tilly Bud did wash her hair with anti-bacterial hand soap on Thursday at 7:46 aa-em sor she’s not afraid of nits, but it looked greasier than before she started, and she could’nae find a hat or a cardboard box to cover it.  The mood in the house has fallen dramatcally as a result.

Nominations are as follows:

Tilly Bud: all votes; twice

Big Bother House, this is Davina.  You are live on Planet Earth; please do not swear.  Tilly Bud, Tilly Bud, and Tilly Bud you have all been nominated for eviction.  I can now reveal that the first person to leave the Big Bother House is …………….





………………………………………………………………………….. Tilly Bud! 

 I’m coming to get you! 

Don’t worry, I’ve got a scarf for your horrible hair.


Tilly Bud

you have been evicted

please leave the Big Bother House

with that dirty head.

Better Late Than Never

23 Jan

I am writing this tonight though it’s already tomorrow, and will be when you read this; just as my tonight will be your yesterday and my tomorrow your today. Unless you’re reading this on Dave*, in which case, Top Gear will be on in a minute.

I blame daylight saving time. I haven’t saved any this week; in fact, I have used more than I needed: the electricians turned off everything except the lights, which they left on in every room for two-and-a-half days. The only advantage to being without power in all that time, I thought, was the money I would save on my utilities bill…now I’m wondering if I can get a government grant or steal an electrician’s wallet to cover the cost.

Don’t mind me; I’m knackered with a capital KNACK. It’s not the shifting a life-time’s worth of junk from your loft or sitting around doing nothing for two days that tires you out; it’s the cleaning up afterwards. I had the stupid idea of doing an early spring clean as I put stuff back. One day of that and I had to spend today recovering.

Housework: I can’t say I’m in favour of it.

* A cable tv channel that has Top Gear on a 24-hour loop

Let There Be Light…Please

20 Jan

An artist's impression of our house over the last two days

(Yes, I know it’s a photograph of fog outside, but the Hub always deletes my pictures on the grounds that no-one is much interested in photos of nothing.)


Took them twice as long as promised and the clean-up will take even longer.  I’m away to my dusty bed, secure in the knowledge we’ll have time to escape arson attacks or electrical fires because of my four smoke detectors, which won’t need new batteries for ten years.

Bear with me.

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