The Home Beautiful

I accidentally started to clean my sink yesterday and to my surprise discovered it wasn’t brown as I had always supposed. Then I did the plug hole which came up shining like silver. Amazing. An angel had alighted on my shoulder and I knew what it was to be house proud. There’s always something new. Encouraged I effected a similar transformation on the tiled floor, and in the process discovered the numerous marks were not holes and chipped edges as I had thought but trodden in food annealed with age. With my flabber ghasted I abandoned the Ajax and took a rest. I daren’t touch anything.

Dirty boy. But I keep my stove clean, it has a white top and I like to see it shine. I spend enough time bending over it. The same with the wash hand basin and the bath. I am also industrious with the toilet brush. Of all my wedding presents it alone has lasted. White surfaces demand to be seen. If the fridge light worked I would be in there as well.

And I vacuum the flat with every change of season whether it needs it or not. These things have to be done. I’m wall to wall carpeted and it’s fascinating to see grey turn red. Under the bed is best, fuzz and fur vanish in seconds along with a host of scuttling things. Then it’s into the machine with the sheets and pillow cases though it’s not summer yet. You can’t be too fastidious.

For light relief I periodically tidy the larder, it’s chock-a-billy with rusty tins, unreadable bottles and burst packets long forgotten, yet strangely as good to eat now as the day they were purchased. It's a proven fact peanut butter lasts forever. I'm chuffed to see my big Bovril only set me back two shillings and sixpence.


Writing this has been a bit of a bugger because the keyboard is so grimy. What it needs is a good scrub. I’ll do it later when I get my trainers and underwear out the bath.