It’s fair to say that housework is the bane of my life. I hate everything about it. I hate that dust gathers at every opportunity, that crumbs appear on freshly hovered carpets (although for this I blame The Boyfriend) and that skirting-boards require any attention whatsoever. I wish I could be one of those people who has a clean home that is ready for visitors at a moment’s notice.
But I’m not. I resent every loathsome minute I have to spend cleaning.
And now it’s gone and gotten worse.
Woodlice have taken residence. They march in, in their droves, taking cover under furniture, rugs and afore mentioned skirting.
As if this isn’t horrific enough, this weekend the following incident occurred.
I was hovering them up, kneeling on the sofa, stretching elegantly over the back, hoover attachment in hand.
God, what a funny smell.
Jees is that burning?
Holy crap the hoover is smoking.
Oh god, it smells electrical.
Oh, that’ll be my plugged in laptop cable being chewed up by the angry looking smoking hoover.
*Moves at PACE to power supplies and narrowly avoids electrical fire.*
What does this incident tell me? That hovering is dangerous? That woodlice and laptops do not mix? That I really am that stupid? I do not have time to answer. I have people coming round and a house full of woodlice. Yes, I forgot to mention that during its ‘meltdown’ the hoover spat out all of the woodlice I had spent the previous hour exterminating.
I must get to work.