There is something therapeutic about cleaning.
I know what you are thinking: who is she kidding? After all, I have never exactly pretended to be God's gift to housework.
And yet, and yet...
Here is Mr B, snoozing gently in his armchair. Here am I with nothing in particular to occupy myself. Which isn't quite accurate as I could make a long list of Things Which Must Be Done
Sooner Rather Than Later. What I mean is, there is nothing in the diary this afternoon, once I have returned from Friday morning's Singing For Pleasure choir session.
Malcolm is back in the Men's Section,
after several months away working with his wife as chalet hosts in some extremely beautiful ski resort. He has lost a lot of weight and is as brown as a berry. He shows us photographs over coffee in the community centre café once we have finished singing
our little hearts out. We are preparing for our next concert so today's choir session involved going over and over some of the songs we shall sing in an vain attempt to satisfy our conductor, The Redoubtable Muriel. It is quite a relief, when the Bacon Bap
Brigade assembles afterwards, to relax while listening to Malcolm telling us what hard work the last few months have been. There are few things more pleasant than listening to somebody else's account of their Hard Life and feeling grateful for small (and great)
mercies. It was the Experience of a Lifetime, Malcolm tells us, which I guess is code for "been there, done that, don't have to do it again, thank goodness."
I can't quite see myself as a chalet maid. I'm
sure I'd love the scenery but I can't ski so there would be no thrilling respite from the cooking and cleaning for me to look forward to. Still, there's plenty to be done at home, without having to stir from my kitchen. I shall play at being a chalet maid
this afternoon, wielding a dish cloth while singing "High on a hill was a lonely goat herd" from The Sound of Music, a film much beloved of the Youngest of the Youngest Daughters when she was but a littl'un.
start with the fridge, which has been desperately trying to attract my attention for a good few weeks. I remove all the shelves to wash them, knowing even as I do so, that I won't remember when it comes to replace them which shelf goes where and which way
round. This is always the problem with cleaning the fridge and goes some way to explaining why I don't tackle it as often as I should. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
At the very back of the fridge
I find a tin of pilchards. I am cock a hoop - this find will make Mr B's day. Plus we won't have to have the usual "what do you want for lunch?" discussion tomorrow morning, I believe this is what is described as a win-win situation. Or, put another way, it's
the Power of Pilchards.
Next I turn my attention to the larder. This cupboard was created when we removed our Old Faithful boiler and bought a new boiler which was housed elsewhere in the kitchen. I love my
larder though Mr B is not so keen on it, on the grounds that he can never find anything that he wants. I therefore devote time (oh, well, okay I make a few instant decisions) on a new arrangement of larder staples: cereals and things Mr B will want to access
on the top shelf; cooking ingredients on the middle shelf; and tins on the bottom shelf. The only Flaw in My Reasoning, as far as I can see, is being unable to read Mr B's mind. I have, nevertheless, made a start which can only be a Good Thing and ought to
be commended. In my humble opinion.
My third and final foray is into the cupboard under the sink which is home to an amazing number of cleaning products which I can't remember ever using. I take everything
out, wash down the floor and walls and consider, for the briefest of moments, pruning the many bottles, sprays and cartons - before replacing everything. Just in case.
I have been overtaken by Cleaning Frenzy.
Tomorrow - the microwave!
You have to agree, this gal knows how to have fun...