Half term drew to a close today with the return of the older two to their Club Quarters. Neither of them seemed remotely phased by it. Probably glad in many ways. Whilst I hope they enjoyed the down time, it was a bit dull. But then the February half term is always dull, and dull is better than disastrous or heartbreakingly awful in other ways. Much to be grateful for.
Having cleaned the house from top to bottom in advance of Nina the Cleaner's scheduled visit tomorrow, (yes, I know) I left the place immaculate when I set off to do my four hour school drop off trip. I came back to carnage. Darling has 'sickups' (you know, the one's that burn) and has spent the whole day wandering about with a sick bowl. Girl 12, was still up and had clearly had a Marmite moment. No one had fed poor Terrier,7, and all the lights were on upstairs. I had to whirlwind clear up three bedrooms (one of which was home to beer cans ffs), and sitting room and kitchen, dispatch Sicknote to the spare bedroom, plump up cushions and generally make the place look like someone with a social conscience lived in it before I got my laughing gear around so much as a glass of water. Now, it may sound mental to have a cleaner coming for an interview tomorrow, and to have cleaned in advance but there is a good reason. The last lot that came out 10 years ago, wandered about, sniffed a bit and then rejected the idea out of hand. Why, they asked, would I think they would want to get involved with Traffic wax, Brasso, Silvo and hard work, when they could get £7.50 an hour (10 years ago remember) for pushing a Hoover around a bungalow down the road. Good point. One I have pondered for many years. Why indeed? Why do I do it, when I could live in a nice warm bungalow down the road?