I spent the day doing housework, and jumping jellyfish it makes me grumpy. I imagined that by the time the kids had grown up I’d have mastered the skill of keeping a lovely home, possibly with home made bread and a Denby stoneware. Not a bit of it. The place is in a worse state than my student bedsit in 1987, and I have about the same in the fridge (moulding cucumber, 2 slices ham, milk, nubbin dried out cheese, jam date-stamped best before 1987).
Anyway, I spent hours cleaning today, the house doesn’t even look any better because stuff has simply migrated to join piles in other rooms. I am aware that some of you will be saying to yourselves, ‘oh, I love cleaning’. Well, what I say to you is, ‘*** **** *** **** ** ****’.
Other things have been making me furious lately:
· The princess holding up the queue at Ikea, who insisted that someone load a thing into her car, the thing having the weight of a paperback book. Heavens to betsy it was a Saturday, do us all a favour love, do it yourself and maybe save on gym membership.
· The drug dealers hanging around the corner of Gloucester Street, and the Community police people. How come you Community bods feel fine about moving my kids on when they’ve just stopped to chat to a friend, but can’t see four suspicious men hanging about for hours with mobile phones in their hand and a car down the street?
· Facebook status updates that go round, the mawkish ones that say how great it was when ‘we’ were kids, or that looters should be hung, or anything about their religion….erm yes, I know I’m a fine one to talk but at least my drivel is original.
· My begging dogs. I love you but not every scrap of food in the world is yours.
· Whoever keeps nicking all the fizzy pop from the fridge. I hate you. Get your own.
There’s more but this isn’t helping. Can’t stand it when I write a list of things to vent and it doesn’t work.
I think it would be best if I never hoover again.