A grey and wet February morning, so cold my toes are turning blue. At ten past ten in the morning there has already been much chaos in the lane, courtesy of a rather large lorry crashing into a row of cars outside my house and shunting the next door neighbours little Clio a fraction short of the low stone wall guarding my little brick world.
Two minutes later and the same car could have gone into one of the many little blue-uniformed babba’s on their way to school. Three minutes later and it could have been Finn.
The neighbours cry and I find myself hugging dressing gowned people one after another, putting out traffic cones and taking photographs for insurance companies that are nothing to do with me, wondering out loud why Tuesday mornings so often seem to attract disasters big and small, and aching for a big tall milky coffee.
Now I am here, safe inside my little living room, a blanket on my knee and The Odd Couple (A housework movie!!) on the screen, laughing loudly and seeing far too many of my Richard’s admirable neurosises in Jack Lemmon. (Stop controlling yourself Felix!!). After a weekend away there is soooooo much to do: as if we have holidayed for three months instead of just a few days. There is washing stacked in little piles queing up for the machine. A bag still un-packed. Home-made disinfectant sitting in the sinks in lieu of me actually pulling my finger out and doing the housework crying out my name, because it is cold and everyone know’s it is impossible to pick up a scrubbing brush when it is cold.
So let it be known that upstairs, beds lay rumpled and un-made and I am sitting with a huge mug full of slimmers green tea and a rather divine chocolate and raspberry biscuit because there is clearly something wrong with my brain. Let it be known that chilly Victorian terraced cottages were never built for one as nesh as me. Let it be known, my Dears, that I would rather be back in Helen’s cosy hot water bottle of a newly built three storey house….
One comes back always from trips with tiny little trinkets and tastes to remember it by. This time two pink dish brushes in preparation for the Seasonal Scrub, a bar of Tranquility Lavender Chocolate, the chocolate and raspberry biscuits mentioned, a book of 1916 household tips, and a cup dotted with hearts I found sitting boxed and be-ribboned under the passenger seat of Richard’s car on the drive home. All that and a tired little head full of memories resounding with laughter.
Today when the film is finished, when I have found the pink cardigan that spells warmth to my goose-pimpled flesh, when I can finally work up the will to live instead of vegetating, I will drain the kitchen sink and spend an hour or two inflicting a little Shiny Sink Syndrome on my soul, placing the pink brushes in a little cream pail on the window ledge, and rewarding myelf for my efforts with a little square of Tranquility. Tranquility that I will let no kamikase lorries set asunder.
Have a lovely day Housekeepers.