a small grrr as first item on the weekend agenda....
now if you read textileseahorse even semiregularly you would know that i do not count housework as a hobby or even a high priority. but in the interests of keeping child protection and cholera at bay i do clean the house (in the loosest definition of that word) once a week - floors, kitchen and bathroom get an oily rag wiped over available surfaces and the floors are even swabbed.
BUT i feel hampered in even keeping a modest level of cleanliness going when my so called vacuum cleaner refuses to step up to the mark. i don't know if you could even call it a dilettante vacuum cleaner so low is its interest in removing dust and assorted cr*p from the floors.
now it's not a state of the art vacuum but it was sold to me AS a vacuum cleaner and it cost more than a tank of petrol so i think it's reasonable to expect some grudging sucking at ground level (which sounds like the perfect lead in to an actress/bishop joke but i will resist)
i often invoke hercules as my patron saint of cleaning but i bet he got on much better with his tools than i get on with mine. this vacuum has a Bad Attitude and the mop (the one i bought under the influence of aliens back in february) is good at scrubbing (tick) but bad at not leaving pools of water on the floor (frown).
so with 3 kids, 3 cats, 1 billthedog and 2 chooks* is it any wonder that chez seahorse could be known as chez filth-hound?
*the chooks aspire to live inside within comfortable distance of the kettle and tea caddy but are confined to cwa headquarters (how many people still have tea caddies? i see a post of the virtues of loose tea and the teapot in my future)
!!! just before i posted this i did the usual spellchecking as i type in ye olde englishe which is picturesque but mystifying for Dear Reader. and lo the message appeared at the top of the post - 'done spellchecking' - minus the last g that's the perfect retirement home name for the civil servant..... although 'dundraftin' also has its appeal and i have often said my twilight years could be spent in a home called 'dun kvetchin'
off to clean my dusty cups (and a final aside it may be the north wind that bloweth outside or the spark of spring in my blood but in retrospect this post is full of potential bishop and actress opportunities)