Shropshire Magazine

Ladies First

The world’s in meltdown, so it’s time to prioritise, reckons VLT

‘Gr8 News re Crdt Crnch!’ texted one of my fluffier chums this week. ‘Never been easier to find a cleaner!’ 

Much as I love her, and she really is one of the sweetest girls on the planet, I do have to admit that she is a tad self-obsessed. With the global economy in meltdown she is thrilled to have sparkling crystal. Well we all need priorities, I suppose.

Apparently households across the country are cutting back by cutting down on the help they have found so essential in better times – ladies who previously lunched, shopped and spent time toning up with personal trainers are now appeasing cash-strapped hubbies by snapping on the Marigolds and getting stuck into the daily grind. 

Can’t see it myself – I would imagine it’s simply the age-old womanly wile of letting the other half believe the belt has been well and truly tightened. Rather like the wives of Russian oligarchs who are reportedly still frequenting Bond Street boutiques, but leaving with their stash in plain white bags.

It’s tough times for celebs too. Even BBC3 Perfect Housewife Anthea Turner has resorted to becoming the new face of Flash cleaning products and getting down and dirty in the latest ad campaign. To add insult to injury, her former cleaner has also reportedly filed a claim for alleged unpaid wages against Anthea and hubby Grant Bovey’s collapsed buy-to-let empire. What next? Liz Hurley the face of Lakeland? Brad Pitt the pin-up of Pledge? 

Devil

Anyway, despite all these indications that housework is the creation of the devil and best avoided, Poppy thought it would be a great idea for me to get my house truly in order by finding a cleaner. 

At this stage, I have to say that I do have a somewhat chequered history when it comes to being house proud. Obviously, when a girl sets out on life’s rich journey a first home is a veritable joy and a delight to keep looking its best. 

All ready for some heavy-duty dusting . . .

But when you are married with three boys ranging from five to seventeen years cleaning becomes more – how can I put this delicately? – more agricultural, I think. Less of a quick flick with a feather duster and spritz with a Jo Malone linen spray; more rubber gloves and Domestos. 

I did actually have a cleaner for one morning a week for a few months, and can honestly say the house had never been tidier – mainly because I felt compelled to charge around like a mad thing the evening before, putting away shoes, coats, toys and other debris so she could move unobstructed through our home doing a little light dusting and vacuuming.

She eventually left us because she felt lonely. Apparently at all the other homes she went to, the owners stayed in and chatted to her while she worked, while I had the cheek to go to work. The only way to keep my dissatisfied cleaner was to give up my job and help her. Hmm . . .

The village also became very excited (yes, it doesn’t take much!) when a postcard appeared in the local shop advertising ‘Ladies Who Do’ Cleaning Services. Unfortunately the proprietor was inundated with potential customers but when it came to finding staff it was more a case of Women Who Won’t.

Blitz

We also had a fabulous team of industrial cleaners blitz our house for the day – highly skilled in turning around MoD homes between families, they scrubbed and polished, steamed and wiped and the house looked fabulous. The only downside was the cost, almost as much as moving house – which, to be fair, it actually did feel like until the children came home and then it was back to Camp Runamuck once more. 

So sorry Poppy, after ten minutes of pondering, I’ve decided to leave job creation for the nation’s battalion of underworked cleaners to others. I will continue with my self-induced myopia – mess, what mess? – until hubby and the boys begin to write sarcastic comments with their fingers in the dust on the coffee table, then I’ll simply hand them cloths, polish and Anthea’s latest tome.

Happy cleaning!