I Am Man Hear Me Really Clean

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

There are two things, and just two things that I will claim to know about women. One is that they will never believe their husband/partner is unwell unless he's fainting on the floor and/or frothing from the mouth. Even then they'd strongly consider getting a second opinion.

Unfortunately for her (and more for me) I am venerable to a vasovagel attack. Which without going into medical detail means that if weak because of something else I'm liable to faint. It happens roughly two years or so. Essentially then she has to believe me.

Even so there have been other moments in our relationship when she has looked at me with my streaming eyes, runny nose, hacking cough or a voice that has gone so deep it could've dug coal and said...

"You're really ill aren't you"

The other thing I know is that there are few things that would stir a woman into action more than when she is of the opinion that the house is about to be inspected. Immediately a comfortable and tidy home becomes a boil on a suburban idyll and has not so much to be cleaned but cleansed.

It is Tuesday. On Wednesday my mother is coming down to spend a few days as it's my daughter's birthday on Thursday. Furthermore the estate agent has arranged a viewing on the house on Friday afternoon. The bad news for my wife was that she was working late that day. I wasn't working Tuesday but for the rest of the week was working mainly in the morning. So this was the last day the whole house could be cleaned, as opposed to tidied.

So I, by default, had to do it by myself.

Tuesday morning around nine. I bring the vacuum up. Is it me or with every technological advance to the cleaners through the years they have become as sturdy as crystal glass? This latest one we've got, which I'm sure has a word ending in "tronic" in its job description has to be treated as delicately as a newborn baby. It was bought a few months ago but the plastic cover for the wire has frayed and we put insulation tape over it.

Bedrooms first then. Quick tidied up /dusting/vacuum job. Daughter had surprised me by bringing her laundry down. Almost causing me to have my first fainting attack that wasn't vasovagel related.

Cleaned the bathroom. Went out of the landing and noticed the suitcase standing to attention in the end. This was the suitcase taken from the attic that daughter used when she went to London. Wife was hoping to keep it downstairs somewhere. If it was just my mother coming I'd have left it there. As there was also a viewing I had to move back up the attic.

Carrying a large suitcase whilst climbing up a step ladder to an attic is not so much difficult but awkward. Like taking a drunk home without the smell. Eventually though it was done. Noticed the Christmas tree box looking at me mockingly. It knows it'll be next. That I tell you is a drama in itself.

Downstairs then. The Kitchen. A wipe, a vacuum and then to wash the floor. Of course if this was TV land and I was a pretty woman I'd have a man tell me to use this product to make the floor so bright in seconds that I'd have to wear sunglasses even inside a house in South Wales. As this is reality and I'm just a man plonked whatever product it was in a bowl with hot water and used a mop.

The living room. Used polish that said it dealt with everything. Fine by me. Vacuumed and wiped the Laminated flooring. Let me tell you something about the flooring. You genuinely think you've done the job and then the Sun decides to shine into your house and bathe you with its light only to also reveal stains that you hadn't noticed before.

Anyway it was eventually done. Won't claim perfection but I think the eventual product was passable. When the wife came in she put a fingermark across the TV stand looking for dust but said nothing.

A quiet little success.

Until the next time.