Dirty talk

At one point as a stay-at-home mum I was writing three blog posts a day: one personal, one Hollywood, one recipe.

Some might say it was a sign of boredom.

I think it was to avoid cleaning.

I HATE CLEANING SO MUCH.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

It’s so freaking pointless. No sooner do you do it than everything gets dirty again.

And it’s BORING.

I’ve never been good with the whole tidy/clean thing. During my share-house years the space between my bed and the window was affectionately known as “cholera gulch”.

When our youngest fell victim to chronic eczema as a toddler – and my ex and I were juggling intense careers – we paid for a cleaner every week. Allergy tests suggested a link to dust mites … talk about a guilt-free excuse for outsourcing!

After I stopped working, I reluctantly kicked back to fortnightly cleans and clung to them for grim death.

But, when we sold the family home, the cleaners had to go.

Sigh.

I miss them, even though they weren’t very good. It meant someone else was cleaning the stove, the floors, the bathrooms.

It was soooooo nice.

I’ve been a bit slack on the cleaning front ever since.

Because, as I mentioned, it’s so BORING. And POINTLESS. And I hate hate HATE it.

But I decided to bite the bullet yesterday because even I could no longer ignore how disgusting the skirting boards had become.

Every single one was covered in a thick layer of black grime.

So you can imagine what the rest of the house was like.

And, because I’d left it so long, it took FOREVER.

Bye, bye lovely, sunny Sunday.

Hello gloomy scrubbing.

Blah.

I gave up at 3.30pm, despite not being quite finished. I still have the eldest’s bedroom and the shower recess to go.

Blah, blah, blah.

Maybe next weekend.

Except by then everything will need cleaning again.

BLAH!

Do you hate cleaning as much as me? 

Song of the day:  Queen “Another one bites the dust”