I think I’m channelling Nigella, Anthea and Kim and Aggie (and quite possibly Kelly). Seriously. I’m not quite sure what is happening but, since we got our heat back on Monday I’ve been in a domestic whirl. Whilst Alf the Plumber was fiddling around in the boiler cupboard I noticed little dust bunnies in said cupboard that wafted out onto the bathroom floor when he shut the door and informed me that “T’was sorted”. The minute Alf left the house I was up in the bathroom hoovering out the boiler cupboard. It’s sparkly clean now and I’ve even put one of those hanging air fresheners in there. I didn’t leave it there, oh no.
I steam cleaned the bathroom tiles with the handy little steam cleaner thing that Amelia bought me for Christmas. My grout is sparkling.
Then I scrubbed every piece of enamel in the bathroom before going into the toilet and repeating the whole thing. It’s now cleaner than a nun’s imagination – it actually hurts your eyes to look at it. Mac is complaining even more about having to get in the bath.
I wasn’t finished there. Safe in the knowledge that my pride and joy was having tea at friend Jack’s house and I had all the time in the world, I polished the bannisters and hoovered the upstairs carpets. Twice. Are you impressed?
I’d like to point out at this stage that I do not live in a hovel – my house is clean and tidy (stray shoes and abandoned socks notwithstanding) but I was on a mission. Something had taken me over, I was a woman possessed.
David had agreed to collect Mac on his way home from work – when they both arrived home at gone six they found me in the kitchen fondling lemons, stirring rice and griddling chicken breasts. Both were open mouthed (David especially, apparently I was fondling the lemons “suggestively”) and even more so when I showed them the already laid table. I even washed up.
After the Tuesday school run I returned home to commune with my kitchen. I made a lamb shank stew and baked a cheesecake. Then I set about cleaning the kitchen, re-organising cupboards and generally whisking about with some bicarb.
Auntie Ivy dropped in with one of her catalogues - “have a look on page 174 and tell me if the woman in the green tracksuit hasn’t got a look of our next door neighbour” – and asked me if I was feeling okay. I assured her that I was and she left with a funny look on her face. When I looked in the mirror I saw why. My hair was sticking out at all angles, half caught in a scrunchie, my face was bright red with the effort of leaning in and out of cupboards and I had bicarb all over my (black) T-shirt.
In the afternoon I rearranged the living room, much to the consternation of the hounds who dislike upheaval. My paintwork is gleaming, my sofas have been Febrezed and I opened every window in the house and huddled in my fleece jacket for two hours telling myself I was “airing” the place.
Yesterday I literally tackled the utility room. It smells heavenly in there but only in certain places…..half Lenor, half musty. I found out why when I manoeuvred the washing machine out of its little niche – the jeans that I thought had blown off the line before Christmas were moulding up nicely in the corner. It now smells as clean as a summer meadow and I think the washing machine benefited from its little shimmy – it’s stopped freaking out every time it does the spin cycle.
Mac and I made biscuits when we got home from school – he’s not quite sure how to cope with this New Domesticated Mummy. I didn’t even whinge when he trod cookie dough into the floor. As a result we had a jolly afternoon and made “not gingerbread men” and decorated them with sultanas. And I agreed to his request of “beans on toast for tea please mummy”.
Today I’ve been wafting around the house in leisure-wear (Bea, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry) inhaling the lemony freshness, marvelling at my gleaming surfaces, casting my gaze over all that I survey and content in the knowledge that, for now anyway, all is right with my world.