Don't get me wrong but...
By and large my house is very low-maintenance.
It’s on one level, so no stairs – I used to hate cleaning stairs! You can’t get a real rhythm going with stairs, plus there are so many corners.
Your average room has 4 corners, but stairs have 2 corners per rise, which with an average number of 13 steps per stairway equals 26 corners. It also means lugging the vacuum up 13 steps. Or down, which is not much better.
Of course if you have no pets then it is possible to use one of those vacuum-on-a-stick devices. In my experience they are useless on carpeted surfaces, because they do not, no matter what the man with the terminally boring voice says, pick up ‘embedded pet hair.’ The only way to pick up embedded hair is to use a vacuum with some serious grunt – possibly even then you might have to deploy an occasional thumbnail!
But my house, apart from the winter, when it has a rug on the living room floor, is wall-to-wall tiles. So a pan and brush, with intermittent mopping, is sufficient. Again the pet-less person only has to contend with dust and garden detritus, but those of us with cats and/or dogs will have a comprehensive knowledge of fluff in all its many forms.
I feel I could write an in-depth dissertation on the subject of fluff. Fluff comes in two forms – dog hair and cat hair. Both are completely different, and each presents the fluff sweeper with a different challenge. Dog hair is more plentiful, and more easily swept up. Apart from the embedding factor, which is a whole separate issue, dog hair stays where it fell and is amenable to being swept up – it doesn’t fight back, it succumbs to the brush, and stays put in the pan.
There is, however, one mystery regarding dog hair that I am at a loss to understand. Why is it that whatever colour dog you have, the hair it sheds is always a different colour to any surface it falls on? A light coloured dog will shed dark hair on light coloured surfaces, and vice versa.
Dog hair can be mastered – but cat hair? Like its original host cat hair is not governable. It hides behind and under everything, and when rooted out will waft away like a wraith at a séance.
Pet hair, when caught, due to persistent chasing with the brush, will innocently nestle in the pan, but as soon as you move it will waft out again, usually behind you!
So whereas there might be less of it, it takes twice as much effort to sweep up! And then there is the matter of the dead or semi-dead small wildlife that the cat will bring in for storage – usually under or behind any large and difficult to move item of furniture!
Housework is the one aspect of the Queen’s life that I envy – she doesn’t have to do it!
Don't get me wrong but...
My memory ain’t what it used to be!
When I was a child I had a very good memory. I could soak up information like the proverbial sponge, and regurgitate that same information virtually verbatim for around three days. However, after three days, unless I had made an effort to actually learn whatever it was, it would disappear from the labyrinth of my brain to be replaced with a clean slate, ready and poised to receive more and different information.
This was probably just as well – if I remembered all the things that I had at one point learned, my head would have to be the size of a suitcase in order to accommodate all that assembled knowledge!
I have noticed that, since coming to Spain, my memory has taken on a rather Quixotic aspect. It seems quite happy to store some facts, usually those which are of no use whatsoever, while dismissing others out-of-hand. For instance: Names.
I know a lot of people, almost exclusively people I like and whose friendship I value, but my memory is as innocent of their names as a caterpillar is of cannibalism. Some blameless citizen will greet me with ‘Hello Jos.’ Thus I know that they know me – there aren’t that many Jos’s around.
The imp that is in charge of my mental filing system will go into overdrive, searching desperately through my synapses to collate all the evidence before me and present me with a name. Usually the imp comes up with nothing, but the worst is when the imp relays the information that I am talking to – say – Pam. This presents me with another conundrum; Is the imp right?
Has it mistaken Jan for Pam? What can I do? If I respond with ‘Hello Pam’ and I am in fact talking to Jan, then I have offended potentially two innocent people – Jan and Pam. So I slide smoothly over the problem. ‘Hello.’ I say, hoping that enlightenment will dawn, and something that Jan/Pam says will give me a clue.
Over the years I have become so used to this state of affairs that I can glide effortless into conversation without the necessity of knowing the actual name of the person with whom I am conversing. What I cannot do is ask their name – how rude I would appear, as if they were of no consequence to me at all, so much so that I couldn’t even be bothered to remember their name!
Yet ask me some obscure and completely useless fact, like for instance *‘do Butteflies poop?’* and I can give you an accurate and factual answer.
So I would appeal to anyone who knows me to be tolerant, to bear with me and make allowances for my short-fallings. Greet me as if I were a person of limited mental acuity – tell me your name before I sink without trace into the mire of my personal ignorance. Something like ‘Hello Jos, remember me? I’m Pam.’ Which will be fine, unless you are Jan. Or Sue. Or Linda. Or in fact anyone except Pam!
*For an accurate and definitive answer, read the August issue of the Almanzora Group of Friends monthly magazine.
Don't get me wrong but...
I have, thanks to lockdown, become a proper retired person.
I wake up and lie there for a bit. I don’t need to get up yet, I’ve got all day. That only holds good until the cat starts somersaulting against the bedroom door, and I either have to put up with the noise, or Do Something About It.
Gradually I emerge from my bed to the accompaniment of creaks and cracks from my reluctant body. I open the bedroom door, upon which the somersaulting cat stalks off denying all responsibility for disturbing the peace, while the other cat barrels in with the message that I must hurry, it is an emergency, he is on the verge of starvation, and if I really loved him I would give him his breakfast immediately if not sooner.
There is a short delay in Cat Starvation Relief while I open the kitchen door for the dog, who is standing in the hallway wagging her tail and stamping her feet, which is her way of saying ‘I might need to go out.’ As she leaves the house she adds ‘Or maybe I just want to bark at something.’
That flurry of activity over it’s coffee time. The telly is raving on about the dire state of the nation, quoting deaths, missed deadlines and Government incompetence, so I get off the sofa and get dressed before the urge to slit my wrists becomes overwhelming.
Now what shall I do? Ah, housework! That doesn’t take long, the house is still gleaming from yesterday’s deep clean.
Better look on the laptop. Can’t do that without the strengthening assistance of a cup of tea!
Oh my goodness, there’s lots on there – I would answer them all in one go, except the phone keeps diddly-dee ing with new messages, and I have to look at them, they might be important.
And now look! It’s lunchtime – Look in the fridge, I’ve got jam. And pickles. And eggs, ooh, and mayonnaise! I’ll have hardboiled egg and pickles, mixed up with mayonnaise- forget the jam.
And now, after such a sumptuous meal, I feel like a little nap. Just half an hour, on the recliner chair with Classic FM on.
How did that happen?! An hour has gone by, yet I only closed my eyes for a minute! Never mind, no hurry, I’ve got all day – I’ll get up after this next piece of music, I really like this one.
I’ll get up after this next piece of music, I really like this one as well.
I’ll get up after………and another hour has gone by!
Come on, get up – the pots need watering, don’t want them to die, do I?
Now the troops are mustering, they want feeding – again!
I wonder what’s on the telly, sit down and switch on Guide. Oh, I want to watch that. But it’s on at the same time as this. Then why not record one of them? Can’t, I’ve already got 2 programmes recording at that time.
My goodness, is that the time? Suppertime!
Wander into the kitchen, what shall I have? Ummm, I’ve got jam. And pickles. And eggs. And mayonnaise. I could have…..No, I had that for lunch.
Everything else is in the freezer, and I’m not prepared to wait several hours for it to unfreeze.
I know, I’ve got cheese, so I’ll take 2 slices of bread out, they will unfreeze in no time, and I’ll have a cheese sandwich, washed down with a cup-a-soup. And for pudding I’ll have a chocolate!
Then I’ll settle down to watch the telly. I need to relax, I’ve had a busy day.
A pity I didn’t have time to: Go for a walk. Have a swim. Read a book. Draw something. Finish the jigsaw. Do the puzzles.
It’s all go, isn’t it?
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