Where did those dust bunnies in the corner by the TV come from? They weren't there yesterday when we were glued to the TV watching various music stars cavort around the Wembley stage. Why has the bathroom developed a sudden musty smell - the kind that demonstrates that there are a few damp towels wedged somewhere. What the hell is that stuck to the runner along the hallway? The dogs sniff it and shoot off at speed. I investigated it this morning, on my hands and knees, sniffing the carpet. It doesn't smell of anything that I can smell but it looks sticky. Why can't I shut the roundabout cupboard in the kitchen? Nothing is stopping me (misplaced Oxtail soup can and so on) yet it won't close. Why can't I plump up my gorgeous duvet cover any more? It sits in forlorn lumps, taunting me.
Has my house been ignored over the past few months and is now getting its own back? Or has Gladys decided that I've been far too slovenley for far too long and is prompting me spiritually?
Whatever's going on, an immediate clean up job is required. It's not as if I've been shirking my housewifely duties during the run up to The Wedding, but I must admit it's been more or a lick and a promise than full on heavy duty elbow grease.
I started in the kitchen - it's gleaming and sparkling and the cupboard door now shuts, I still don't know what was wrong with it. Then I did the hallway, utility room, dining room and the living room. When David got home at half past seven he found me slumped in front of Coronation Street while Mac polished the ornaments in his PJs. "Daddy, I'm soooooooooo tired!" he yawned. I merely waved from my supine position and gratefully grabbed hold of the bottle of wine David handed me as he whisked the child-labour workforce up to bed.
The house seems happy that it's halfway clean and tidy - perhaps Gladys is relenting a little now that I've set the ball rolling.