A Productive Day

 

Hannah and I went to town, recycled children's books and clothing at the council yard then went for a drive on Ballymena's newest road which is rather lovely as it goes past the Ecos centre where it is lined with trees. Then to Tescos to offload my more readable books, Ian Rankin, Sarah Waters - that kind of thing. And who should I bump into but Mrs The Wee Manny who was donating her cookery books as she only uses online recipes these days. She was feeling rather frazzled as her two pups (Cleo's litter mates) have destroyed her garden and are eating her nicest clothes. Then there is her geriatric dog who keeps collapsing on his own stool and thus needs frequent baths. Thank goodness for her lovely hubby who gives her no bother at all. We hope to see them all over the July holidays.

Then we went to the Costa on the Larne Road link. My second visit, my first was with Vinny when we shared a lemon curd tart. My mouth has often watered thinking of it. Today I ate a whole one and it was delightful. The clientele at that Costa is awfully middle-class. People-watching is far more interesting in Grafters.

When I got home I spent a rainy half-hour slashing and hacking in the garden. Filled one barrow for the compost heap. I wonder if I can blame Cleo for the disaster in the garden should my cousin call. I'm not sure she'll buy it as there are giant weeds there from before the pup was born.

How goes the decluttering? I'm still in my bedroom but it is emptying out nicely. Books were the biggest issue there. They are being gathered together and will be sorted in days to come. 

To fuck with the housework

In Which I Become My Own Cleaner

We had a young man visit us a week ago who was very enthusiastic about his new cleaner.



You should get one. It has entirely changed my life. She comes once a week, spends an hour and a half cleaning and it only costs me #18. My house is spotless and I have nothing to do other than wash dishes for the entire week.


That wouldn’t work for me. Ninety minutes wouldn’t look at this place. Not with the size of it, four dogs, a constant stream of visitors and Bert tramping dirt of the yard the entire, live-long day.


Oh, not-a-tall. You should get one. It will change your life. She is so efficient. It used to take me half the day just to clean my kitchen. I kept getting distracted.


I’d look well getting a cleaner and me retired, fit and able and anyway – it would stress me out – I’d feel I’d need to take the rough off the house before the cleaner came.


Aye, I do that too.


This boy has passions. The last time he was here he’d just bought a sports car. Best thing in the world. We’d happened to mention we were looking for a car for Hannah who’d just passed her test and nothing would do him but she should get a sports car just like his. He couldn’t be chatted out of it.


Anyway, after he’d gone I had a think about the cleaner idea. It’s not that I wanted to hire one but perhaps I could be my own cleaner? I decided to get up earlier the next day and clean for 90 minutes. Well, two sessions of 45 minutes with a refreshing cup of coffee in between.


I got up early the next morning and in ninety minutes I washed dishes, cleaned the kitchen, sun-room, hall, and downstairs bathroom. I brushed and mopped landing and stairs and put laundry on. When the timer pinged I had not managed to get round to my private, secret sitting room, the scullery, upstairs bathroom or any of the bedrooms. Nevertheless, I marched up to Bert, who was still in bed reading the last couple of chapters of Cold Comfort Farm and announced that I’d cleaned for an hour and a half and he owed me nine quid. (His share of the cleaner’s wages.)


And I’ve been my own cleaner ever since. I usually just do it for an hour but if I’m going out early I’ll be efficient for 30 minutes. It does make a difference as getting basic cleaning out of the way means I can spend the rest of my time doing what I please and what I please is mostly working in the garden. I reckon Bert owes me at least 60 quid by now although I don’t expect to receive it any time soon.

Managing His Man Cave

One of my daily chores was tidying and wiping the coffee table in Bert's man cave. And every day, as I carried out this one-minute job, I'd find myself feeling a bit resentful. Thinking...

Bert never lifts as much as a spoon!

I'm always lifting and laying after  him!

I bet if I stopped cleaning up after him he'd soon notice!

Then I thought,

I will just stop cleaning this table for a week and I'll document it every day and we'll just see how bad it gets.

So I did stop cleaning it and, much to my surprise, Bert did bring dishes to the kitchen and he even emptied ashtrays. The table stayed much the same throughout the week. Apart from Wednesday morning, the day after he had his mates around for a music session. That was the fourth picture along. He never even noticed that I wasn't clearing and wiping his table every day. I wiped it this morning and it was a little grubbier than usual but that meant it was more satisfying to wipe down.

So, there you go. A daily chore has become a weekly one and I don't have to be resentful any more. It's only a table in a man cave.

Ooops!

This evening, in a frenzy of dish cleaning, I picked up my mobile phone and immersed it in a sinkful of sudsy water. It was strange to see its bright little face blinking out at me through the Fairy Liquid soup - gave me such a start. So I did what any sensible person would do. Abandoned dish washing for I was obviously overdoing it. A child took my phone apart and set its component parts in a warm dry place (thanks Ben) while I cracked open a bottle of Italian red.

The phone may or may not survive. Who cares? Not me.

A National Treasure

I didn't get a moment to blog over the weekend because I was so busy. Starting on Saturday morning we were inundated with visitors which meant that Bert was unable to clear off leaving me on my own to clean the house. Sometimes I wish Bert would fix up a shed for receiving company in. He could tell the visitors that Nelly was not 'at home'. Of course I would be 'at home' - I'd be 'at home cleaning'.

Or he could be honest.

I'm sorry but today we will have to drink our coffee and smoke our cigarettes in this comfortably appointed and 'all mod cons' shed. Today the house is out of bounds. It's Nelly's housework day and she is very dangerous to approach during housework. Think of a bull elephant in must and you will get some idea of her current mood.

Then there were people coming for dinner so including Pearlie and Lizzie that was six delicious meals to prepare. The main course, a dry chicken curry, was close to disastrous but the dessert, rhubarb and ginger crumble, was wonderful. Maybe I should just order in the savouries and concentrate on puddings. Pearlie refused crumble on the grounds that she 'wouldn't like it' even though she regularly eats those vile, doughy and shop-bought excuses for rhubarb tarts. Still her loss was Bert's gain.

Another highlight of the evening was the discovery of Bernie the Bantie's newborn chick. Years old Bernie is and this was her first baby. That rooster has certainly been earning his keep. It's amazing what a bit of the oul cock can do for a girl.

I spent most of Sunday morning crying. Why? It's my age.

To cheer me up Bert took me to World of Owls in Randalstown forest. There were no long-eared owls which was a slight disappointment but as I reasoned to Bert, why have long-eared owls when they know everyone's got their own. What? You don't? Sad for you.

We got talking to Mike who runs the project and before we knew it we were offering him ornamental trees for the sanctuary but hauling trees to a forest is a little like taking coals to Newcastle. Mike said he'd been advised to plant clematis montana around the aviaries to afford the birds a bit of shade and privacy. Did we know anywhere he could get clematis montana? Funny's enough.... So we'll be back and this time I won't have left my camera at Matty's.

Another thing that happened at the weekend was I got invited to have my blog archived by the British Library. I thought this sounded a bit odd so I checked it out. I discovered that at least two other Norn Irish blogs had been invited too. These are BreastFeedingMums and Peregrine's Bird Blog.

My own breast feeding credentials are impeccable. Katy and Zoe were both breastfed until 14 months and Hannah.... maybe a week or two longer....

And then there's my newly awakened interest in birds. Is there some kind of pattern emerging here?

Naturally I consulted Mr Bolan as to the wisdom of taking up this invitation. He informed me that it means I am a National Treasure and t'were no harm in it. So I did.

Home Alone

I'm not much of a drinker but I've been known to have a go at it. Recently the wine has been flowing too frequently down my throat. So tonight I'm home alone while my dear one and his mates go visit friends in Antrim. And dear friends they are too but they do like to drink. So rather than sit like a lemon while all around me get legless I am staying at home to clean the fridge. It is now spotless so back to the blog.