the victorian maid

It took a while but my first (and possibly last) full length stumpwork portrait is finished at last. Had she been a real character, she wouldn’t have been allowed to wear flowers in her hair during a working day but she didn’t start off being a maid and I liked them so they remained. Artistic licence and all that. She measures approximately 10 inches from head to toe. More time and effort were spent on the outfit and accesssories than were spent on the stumpwork face but once I’d decided to make it full length, I had to complete the self imposed challenge. (Click on the image to see it in more detail.)

 

 

 

housework slut?

I have a friend who regularly moves her fridge, washing machine, tumble drier and dishwasher out of position so that she can clean under, around and behind them. She mops her kitchen floor twice a day and lines her oven with tinfoil so that it doesn’t get messy inside. I think she has a problem. The only times that white goods should be moved are: a) the day they’re installed, b) the day they’re being replaced because they died and c) decorating times. We are currently at c) and in our house, this only ever means moving the fridge/freezer because it sits in a corner whose walls need to be painted. (We did this yesterday and amongst the fluff on the floor I found two fridge magnets, a pen and a cardboard insert from a tortilla pack.)

I have another friend who used to clean her house in preparation for her Mrs Mop’s arrival. When asked why she did this, she replied, “I couldn’t possibly let Mrs M see it untidy or dirty.” I felt that this rather defeated the object of having a Mrs Mop in the first place. Perhaps she was just being altruistic but I doubt it.

Don’t get me wrong, I like a clean house and I have a sub-consciously defined standard which triggers me into cleaning mode every now and again but my standard does not seem to be on a par with that of my relatives or friends. I can quite happily let the dust accumulate on the sideboard for many a day. Why is it only my job to clean anyway? Everyone else in the household knows where the cleaning equipment is. I may have purchased them all but not for my exclusive use. As if! No-one in the household ever complains about my infrequent cleaning spells but that’s because they know that if they did, I’d point them in the direction of the nearest duster/cloth or whatever was required to clean the offending item. I’d even give a ‘how to use it’ lesson if necessary, but only once.

There is a beautiful wooden floor in our living room. Our dining table is also in the living room. It sits on the wooden floor. When the sun shines through the balcony door at the end of the table, every item which has no right to be on the floor becomes visible. This is the one thing that can prompt me into sudden cleaning mode. It’s always a challenge to clean this floor and each time I believe that I will succeed but I fool myself each time. Sweeping with a brush does not collect all the debris. Vacuuming only sends it elsewhere due to the spin of the brush. A damp cloth is only partially effective. And when I think I’ve actually cleaned the floor this time and put the vacuum/brush/cloth away, I return to discover that I missed some. Again. I’m convinced that it breeds. It must do. It drives me nuts. I didn’t want a wooden floor in the first place but I was out-voted. Dust on the sideboard I can live with. Dust and what-have-you on the floor can cause me to mutter, shout obscenities at the air and subsequently put me in a thoroughly bad mood.

I think there are far better things to do than housework and for the sake of my health and in the interest of keeping stress levels low, I propose to continue to do the minimum possible when it comes to housework. It could be of course, that family and friends only clean when they are expecting visitors but I doubt it. They’re just wired differently to me.