Housework never ends…..
Sadly, I am the kind of women who prides herself on her housekeeping skills. Inspired by Martha Stewart, I am an angel with a feather duster and a goddess in a floral pinny. I am, I confess, the kind of woman who enjoys getting down on her knees and scrubbing the kitchen floor.
But today I am demented with washing. Demented. Finley is running around with a black bra on his head and I’ve just nearly killed myself on a puddle of water, because to my horror, the washing machine is leaking.
Now I am a woman with a system. A housework system that has transformed my ludicrously chaotic life. I am like your Grandmother (only younger and hipper!). I like my rituals. They give my day, my week, my month, order, where quite frankly there is only chaos. I make ugly things like ironing, lovely with delicious scented ironing water, and wash my underwear in the most divine laundry fragrance from The Good Home Company.
When my towels are neatly stacked in my linen closet, I light my candles and collapse on the sofa with a celebratory cup of
But today all hell has broke loose. There is washing everywhere. Any other day I’d cry. Or load the baby into his car seat and hunt out the nearest launderette (do they still exist?) , but today the rain is bucketing down, the house is strangely cosy and to Finley’s joy, I am about to sit down for cuddle with my babba and watch Willie Wonka for the millionth time.