"Yes, but wouldn't you rather have something new that doesn't require much maintenance?" a friend said today after I had just spent an hour moaning about cleaning the house.
.
I know I'm a bit allergic to the hoover and I need a few gins to do the ironing, but as far as I know no one has ever died of dust poisoning. Every now and again I make a concerted effort and declare war on the house, spending a whole weekend with a cloth in my hand laying seige to every crumb, crust and crisp packet that tries to hide behind the furniture. This weekend I have removed every loitering cobweb and even, yes even, cleaned under the cooker with a natty little brushy-sucky thing that I purchased about five years ago for that very purpose. I have been Mrs Mop incarnate - the grates are blackened, the kitchen is gleaming, airing cupboard sorted (13 missing socks found) and I have even found enough money down the sofas for the Feckers dinner money for the next month. Whoo hoo!
.
Having said all that I know that this house is a drain on my resources. Built in 1882 it still retains all its lovely fiddly features that requires the attention that a new house doesn't. We have the original glass in the windows, ceiling roses the size of tables and plasterwork that the Italians would sell their mothers for.
So, how about a new, straight walled, low maintenance, low ceiling, dust free, featureless box that I don't have to think about?
.
And give up this?
.
.
.
I know I'm a bit allergic to the hoover and I need a few gins to do the ironing, but as far as I know no one has ever died of dust poisoning. Every now and again I make a concerted effort and declare war on the house, spending a whole weekend with a cloth in my hand laying seige to every crumb, crust and crisp packet that tries to hide behind the furniture. This weekend I have removed every loitering cobweb and even, yes even, cleaned under the cooker with a natty little brushy-sucky thing that I purchased about five years ago for that very purpose. I have been Mrs Mop incarnate - the grates are blackened, the kitchen is gleaming, airing cupboard sorted (13 missing socks found) and I have even found enough money down the sofas for the Feckers dinner money for the next month. Whoo hoo!
.
Having said all that I know that this house is a drain on my resources. Built in 1882 it still retains all its lovely fiddly features that requires the attention that a new house doesn't. We have the original glass in the windows, ceiling roses the size of tables and plasterwork that the Italians would sell their mothers for.
So, how about a new, straight walled, low maintenance, low ceiling, dust free, featureless box that I don't have to think about?
.
And give up this?
.
.Nah! Not on yer nelly.
.
22 comments:
Built in 1882,eh? You sound well Minx.
The house looks good too.
No I don't go for featureless boxes either and your bathroom look sooooooo great. I'm jealous, although at least I have a bath now.
I've always considered a caravan to be the height of Luxury .
My last one was blown up by a police armed response team so I am in the market for a replacement.
Should you hear of a decent one going cheap please let me know.
You're absolutely right, Minx. Your house sounds just great.
AND in Cornwall, too.
John G - I try.
V - weirdly enough the platform that the bath stands on is exactly the same size as the bathroom in our old house.
Oh Hitch, you are a hitchlock after my own heart. I am very sorry to hear about your van. Unfortunately ours is not for sale at the moment but I will keep me ears to the camping field.
Jan - the house is a result of a long, hard slog. It is a sanctuary at the end of the day. What more could you ask?
In a word: exquisite.
That's...uh...that's not your whole house, right?
What a gorgeous bathroom. I want one just like it.
Can we have a photo of your bedroom next Ms Minx (**whistles innocently**)
Oh, can I come and spend a week?
And do you bring breakfast to my bed?
Great!
Gosh! Think of all the books that would land up in the water if I had that bath!
Thank you Lee, but you cannot see the paw prints in me freshly cleaned bath or the washing spilling out of the linen basket.
MT, I could possibly live in this one room - tis me favourite.
Marie - convert a large bedroom and hey presto!
Mut - what do you think I am, Homes and Gardens?
Shameless, you can come and stay anytime. Free board, but it's £200 a bath and NO breakfast.
Lovely!
You are hired. I'll pay your airfare to come and clean and decorate. I will do the cooking.
Hi Equiano, I do most of my reading here. I put a stool next to the bath for a glass of wine and snacks. No book losses as yet.
Roberta, I'll come and stay and I may do some decorating, but absolutely NO CLEANING.
I have a sign in my kitchen that says 'Housework makes you ugly' - I live by this.
Why aren't I staggeringly beautiful then?
Well Minx, I think you've just helped me discover the secret to my good looks! (You realise I say that firmly tongue in cheek, I see what you've done to your blogroll!)
Well, 'staggering' can be applied in most areas Debi, but you definitely is one of the gorgeous ones. Looking forward to using me tub? I can see you with a cigar and me stetson!
V - you sent me your pics, you foxy minx. Keep spitting at the dust and you will stay beautiful for ever.
And I'm looking forward to seeing Confy's face when he comes in the bathroom for a quiet crap and finds an entire filthy tribe of writers and runners fresh (?) from showerless campsites in that gorgeous bath.
No problem - we have a spare one!
'Meesah Fawlty... he haf a very
nice colour...ees a lovely, lovely blue
(mwah).'
'Basil - have you died in there '
'Sybil, will you shut up and get me a gin. That's right dear just leave it outside the bathroom door'
My sister used to live nearly next door to where they filmed Fawlty Towers. Just thought you might like to know.
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