The weekend has passed in a blur of domesticity.
Shamed into cleaning by the reproachful glare of my gleamingly clean oven, we have blitzed the house, including doing window cleaning and changing bed sheets. This undoubtedly means that we will have some kind of domestic apocalypse in the next few days which will undo all that hard work and render the house the filthy pit it usually is. Cleaning is basically a war which you are doomed never to win. At least in this house it is.
Not only is the house sparkling, but we have weeded the front garden, including between all the bricks in the block paving. It has never looked so nice. The neighbours are sure to think we have been snatched by aliens, as it is usually three foot high in enormous thistles and interestingly sprouted grasses. It is so neat I find it rather unnerving. I felt we should make a bit of an effort as Jason has booked a door restoring man to come and look at our 1930’s front door next week. He is going to come and see if he can make it look lovely and shiny and vintage instead of peeling, half brown and half grey where the last owner gave up mid paint job and never looked back. It’s no good having a vintage front door if your front drive looks like something from Apocalypse Now.
We have reorganised the raised beds in the back garden, getting rid of some spectacular weeds, which in my utter gardening ignorance I had decided were probably flowers, or possibly interestingly shaped vegetables but which actually turned out to be evil, self replicating monsters that grow a mile a minute. We have bought new plants to plug up the balding bits in the beds so they don’t look too shameful. We have mowed, we have pruned, we have sucked up leaves, we have hacked away at things. I need to sort out the sorry state of my potted plants on the deck, which it turns out I can kill quicker than almost anything else in the history of ever, but other than that, it all looks jolly nice.
The new parasol is doing a sterling job so far. Jason has demonstrated its parasol capabilities to various guests who have popped round over the last day or two. He is like a very specialist tour guide.
The children have moved into the playhouse. They have a rug down there and have made curtains out of Farrow and Ball paint charts. How middle class. They were playing some complicated game in there earlier which involved Tallulah shouting at Oscar a lot and calling him Tony. I didn’t get involved. It sounded like Tony was in for a drubbing.
Jason has sanded down a second hand bench we bought and given it a generous rubbing over with teak oil. He has done other manly things with tools that I really don’t have the time, patience or word skills to explain.
I have finally sorted out Oscar’s clothes after a year of procrastinating about it. I don’t like to rush into these things willy nilly. They were beginning to spill out all over everywhere, and were housed in an extremely rickety Ikea chest of drawers which had seen better days. The crunch came when my friend gave me a load of clothes her son had grown out of, and Oscar pulled a large lump of wood off the front of one of the drawers trying to put them away. We took bin bags of clothes to the charity shop, and then blithely hacked up the chest of drawers, feeling sure we would find something lovely at our favourite furniture warehouse.
Sadly, when we went to the furniture warehouse we found only horrible chests of drawers worse than the one we hacked up. We came home with a plant pot and a wing back chair with a wobbly leg.
Oscar has now got strategic piles of clothing all over his bedroom floor while we wait to find one we actually want. It is possible that we should have found the new chest of drawers before we hacked up the old chest of drawers, but you know, the spirit was upon us, and nothing beats smashing something nasty to bits with a lump hammer and a well aimed boot. Something will turn up eventually.
The cat decided to spite me by contracting conjunctivitis in both eyes on Saturday morning. It has taken Jason and I all our time to pin her down twice a day for the last two days to put eye cream in. I am dreading him going back to Germany. I really have no idea what I will do. I expect I will have to buy gauntlets, and possibly some sort of cat harness.
If there is such a thing.
Tallulah is off on her outward bound holiday with the school tomorrow. She is all packed and hideously excited. She is teetering between bliss and hysteria, as am I. I shall spend all week worrying about her falling down a pot hole, into a mine shaft, out of a tree, etc.
It’s bound to snow.