Greetings ‘netlings, and apologies for neglecting you the last fortnight. I returned from Corinbank exhausted and physically ruined and was singularly lacking in inspiration. Also, there was a letter waiting, informing me that my house is to be inspected by the property manager who handles my lease. Oh happy day!
That little bubble of resentment rises up whenever I’m informed that a stranger is going to come to my home and check for dust on the skirting boards. Perhaps I’m just strange, but I don’t really pay much attention to the skirting boards, and I’m pretty sure my friends and family don’t, either.
Wildflower certainly doesn’t care; she’d wade through half a metre of dust and detritus without batting an eyelid, if her bedroom is anything to go by. I tackled her cave of horrors on Sunday; I started tentatively on the edges, but in the end I got a broom and just swept the tide of plastic Sino-crap into the middle of the room. I like to do things methodically, which requires an intimate knowledge of children’s playthings. It’s no good trying to sift through the mountain of brightly-coloured plastic unless you can tell a My Little Pony’s shoe from a Littlest Pet Shop’s hat. “No Mother, that is Polly Pocket’s wardrobe, not Brights Brightly’s water trough.”
The problem with cleaning is that once you start it becomes so difficult to stop; you’re just wiping a few marks off the architraves, and you look over and think, “I’m sure I would have noticed if one of my guests walked around spitting small mouthfuls of black coffee over the walls, so what is this stuff and how did it get here?”. Likewise, I don’t think I would have missed the apricot jam fight or the mud slinging contest. These things are mysteries – I wonder if I should call the Vatican?
I have to confess, though, that once you have cleaned all the light fittings, done the windows, polished the furniture, shampooed the carpets, and dusted the moulded cornices, the room becomes brighter and more pleasant to be in. Or perhaps I’m just hallucinating from the Windex fumes.
Well, I’m off to see what happens when you mix Gumption with toilet cleaner – wish me luck.