I am not the world’s tidiest person when it comes to housework. I’ve usually really got to be in the mood to tidy, dust and vacuum and that rarely happens to be quite honest. As I happily live on my own, it’s not an issue. Until the day where I look around and think “Right, that’s it. I can’t stand this any more” and I have a rush of s**t to the head and blast the place from top to bottom.
The exception to this is when I go away on holiday. The one thing I really hate is to come home after having been away, whether for a couple of days or a couple of weeks, and find the house in a mess.
To pause for a second or two here – when I say “mess” I don’t mean that the place is a midden. I’ve apologised for the state of the place to people before and they’ve said “what mess?” so it really isn’t that bad. Most of the time.
Anyway, digession aside, I had a blitz of the house before I went away on holiday. The only thing I didn’t do was climb into the shower cubicle with a big bottle of descaler and get rid of all the accumulated calcium on the doors and shower tray. Other than that, the place was pretty damned tidy: dusted, vacuumed and neat.
Imagine my disappointment when I climbed the stairs for the first time on my arrival home on Tuesday and walked into my en suite shower room to find half a cat’s worth of fur clogging up the sink and floor and a smattering of fur all over the lid of my loo. And not just any fur – black fur. All over my white suite.
I have to say that Oscar didn’t look at all sorry and simply gave me a look that said “well, it’s your fault for going away isn’t it?”