Daily grind

I keep hoping that something thrilling will happen so that I have got something interesting to tell you.

Not too thrilling, obviously. I am not all that keen on some kinds of thrilling. Most adventures are very much better when they are over. The problem with excitement is that at the time, it is not necessarily very nice. I have reached the stage of life where I do not even much like nice excitement, like ‘going on holiday tomorrow’. This sort of thing just makes me flap about anxiously.

All the same, it would be lovely to have something cheery and interesting to discuss with you, but alas, I have not. I have spent most of today cleaning up the children’s now-empty bedrooms, and the very best that could be said about it was that it was dull.

I do wish I liked cleaning things. My life would be a warm bath of contentment if I did, but it isn’t. Instead it is a surging ocean of grumpiness and hoover-shoving as I fight my endless dreary battle against paw prints and dust.

Even that makes it sound more exciting than it actually is. Battles are full of life-or-death clashes, mortal terror and do-or-die courage.

Cleaning the house is a bit like the sort of battle that involves hanging around outside a castle waiting for some tiresome idiot to surrender, when mostly what you are doing is worrying about the lavatory facilities and whether you can steal enough goats to provide a dinnertime curry for five thousand people.

I did not even get any dinner ready. I am going to stop driving a taxi when Mark comes home, which will probably be about nine o’clock, and we will probably have cheese on toast, possibly with added smoked prawns.

I cleaned everybody’s bathroom and threw their sheets and towels down the stairs.

I did not need to clean our bathroom very much.

I do not think I have talked about this, but in fact it has been a New Year’s Good Intention that has actually paid off.

Instead of our bathroom eternally degenerating into a haven for black mould and spiders, I have taken to cleaning it every single day.

Part of the effect of this has been that now there is something horrible in every single day, but the very good thing is that it only ever takes a few minutes, and our bathroom is now always clean.

Mark has the last shower at nights, and wipes the mirrors and the shelves at the side of the bath.

When he is making the coffee in the morning, I leap excitedly out of bed and rush into the bathroom to polish the other mirrors and clean the bath and the sink.

I do not bother with the loo. I chuck some bleach in it later on when I am milling about doing other things.

We have done this every day since January, and whilst I absolutely loathe doing it, the result is that the bathroom is never, ever dirty.

I never go in there and feel mildly repelled by slimy plugholes or greasy shower curtains.

Our bathroom is like the lovely bathroom in a beautiful hotel all the time, all for the sake of five minutes growling before I am even properly awake. It never takes very long, because it never has chance to get very grubby.

in fact this has meant an immeasurable improvement in life. I like going into the bathroom and feeling pleased with myself. I can look in the mirror and notice grey hair and wrinkles, which is still an improvement on just noticing toothpaste smears.

Hence today all I had to do to our bathroom was shove the hoover around it, which I did, without enthusiasm. After that I dashed out to the Post Office to dispatch everything Oliver had forgotten, and came out to work.

if anything exciting happens now you will have to wait until tomorrow to find out about it.

We took the picture from the camper van. It is Scotland, at midnight.