Thoroughly Cleaned Off

My friend Tina has a wonderfully clean kitchen with no paraphernalia on top of the surfaces or pot and pans lying around. Inspired by her example, I determined to improve my housekeeping skills and yesterday embarked on a cleaning blitz. Firstly, I washed all the surfaces of the kitchen units and then, armed with limescale remover, attacked the glass shower cubicle which hasn’t been scrubbed for months. Admiring my handiwork I noticed an expanding puddle on the floor – on closer inspection, not a leaking radiator but half the contents of an expensive bottle of shampoo.’ Ah well’ I said as I cleaned it all up.

 In the kitchen I reached for a frying pan from the cupboard where I had neatly stored the glass pepper mill, out of sight. It fell out, sending peppercorns and shards of glass all over the floor. ‘Ah well’ I thought as I got out the dustpan and cleared it all up.

 Reaching for the olive oil in the same compartment I managed to knock over a bottle of tonic water which smashed and sent a pool of fizzing liquid all over the newly cleaned floor.’ I don’t believe this’ I thought to myself. I finished my omelette without further mishap and decided to empty the contents of the over- full bin under the sink (into which I had diligently shoved the out-of -date creams and tomato sauce from the fridge).As I heaved the bag out towards the larger black bin bag it split in half and the mess of cream mixed with tomato sauce and other food detritus was unbelievable. ‘What the ****’I thought to myself as I surveyed my newly cleaned cupboards now splattered with an artistic mixture of cream and tomato. Looking heavenwards I said ‘You’re having a laugh aren’t you?’

All my labour in vain.

Now I knew how Hercules must have felt, manfully cleaning out the Augean stables. He should have enlisted the help of another hero from classical mythology, the mighty Ajax. Do you remember those wonderful adverts for that liquid cleaner – ‘Ajax, cleans like a white tornado’.  Now we’ve got the boring monosyllabic Cif which used to be called Jif until the marketing bods changed the name to make it more appealing internationally. What on earth is ‘Cillit Bang’ supposed to mean? ‘Stuffit Bang’ more like. Or, to reflect the never- ending nature of housework which even in these enlightened times is mainly done by women, how about ’Cissy Fuss?’It would at least show some empathy with poor old Sisyphus, eternally condemned to roll his boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll down again.

Wish I’d kept a wonderful brochure given out at the British Advertising Awards ceremony at the Dorchester Hotel in London in the eighties. My favourite page was the one featuring international brand howlers. A bag of peanuts called Sambo, a bottle of pop called Pschiitt and a sweet called Sic. Dear God.

Perhaps I could get a job around a table bashing out potential brand names. Even I could have told Vauxhall that naming a car ‘Nova’, meaning no- va- no – go, would have guaranteed titters from the Italians and the Spanish, which it did.

There’s a moral in this story somewhere.

Anyway I then went out, got sozzled with my friends, and today I’m not doing anything more than quietly read my book.