Mr No Muscle.
Yesterday began like most :
1. Get up.
2. Get up.
3. Actually get up.
4. Make some coffee.
Coffee made I felt like a new man, touched by a deity and prepared for the day ahead, trouble being I had no plans so my no fear, gung ho outlook was soon suppressed and quickly replaced by boredom. Luckily and to my great delight I remembered I had cleaning to do, (stifled applause).
First to be tackled was the kitchen, so it was on with the marigolds (not sure about marigold etiquette yet, do you wear the same pair for the bathroom too?) and out with the Mr Muscle, who on this occasion looked rather buff compared to me, deflating further my already sagging ego. Now I’m not sure what what I’d been cooking since I last cleaned the oven top but apparently I’d been melting wellies with human hair, letting it congeal into what looked like a bearded Jackie Stallone, you would need Thor’s hammer and Keith Richards blood to shift this stuff. Me being me I quickly abandoned any hope of completing said task as I’d long convinced myself I didn’t posses either the strength or tools to complete such a mammoth chore and therefore decided to sweep the floor instead, much more my scene.
After sweeping the floor with the grace of Darcey Bussell I moved into the bathroom, and onto the sink. Unfortunately it caused me great difficulty after a ’polishing knobs’ innuendo entered my juvenile conscience and rendered me paralytic with the giggles. As the toilet was surprisingly clean I begrudgingly decided to move onto the shower/bath, (if believe that last sentence then I’m also Ted Dansons brother, Ned, I live in a tree house where my only source of electricity is a giant wheel of horse bones powered by an eternally sprinting Steve Guttenberg). I had all the bases covered when it came to the shower, spray some gleaming bathroom product onto the surface, leave it ten minutes, use time to eat last nights pasta and rinse.
Checking my watch I realised it was almost one o clock, a good time to stop I thought, didn’t want to overdo it. However my foray into the world of the domestic did get me thinking about people that clean for a living. I can fully understand that some people do it out of necessity, a means to an end, a way to pay the constant barrage of incoming bills, but some people, actual human beings do this for fun. If i ever get the opportunity which I’m sure I will judging by my already rammed diary, I would like to meet these people one by one and just ask why?