Day 49 Domestic

The last word anyone would use to describe me is Domestic. I can always find something that has a higher priority. When I was working I paid someone who loved housework to do it for me. One of my first domestics refused to use electricity; she cleaned the way she had been trained, brushing all carpets with a stiff brush and beating rugs over the clothes line. When she turned up for work in the morning she donned a flowered pinny and matching cap. She got great pleasure from taking home linen tablecloths to boil and starch, and, when she was finally persuaded to stop work at 70, it was not because she wanted to, or was incapable, but because her sons who had both done well in life were finding it an embarrassment. It took a couple of years of trial and error until I finally found someone who loved her job as much and took pride in it. Someone who looked forward to our going on holiday for a couple of weeks so she could "bottom the house" ie scrub all the carpets and wash all the paintwork without anyone getting under her feet. Since retirement I have never really got into a cleaning routine, I just do jobs when it becomes very evident, even to a man on a flying horse, that they need doing. One thing I did learn from Dorothy was to always wash cloths and dusters after use, so this is what I have photographed, the cloths I have just folded and placed in my cleaning bucket. Along with the simple products I use when the spirit moves me; a bottle of strong white vinegar, a spray bottle of vinegar and water, and a spray bottle of alcohol and water.