Middle Class Guilt

Okay, so the she-flu has not yet subsided and so I'm holed up in Steve's cosy flat in Clapham South. It's not that torturous as I've got freeview, and all the films I could possibly want, plus a 15 tog feather duvet...so why am I sitting in a pikey internet cafe opposite Clapham South tube station?

It's simple.

She's 24, she's Polish, she wears 3/4 length leggings and flip flops, and she's terrifying.

She is Steve's cleaner. She has an uncanny knack of short circuiting the electrics everytime she comes over and so can never use the hoover, or the iron, or anything which might aide cleaning. Steve and I often joke that she just gets all her mates over, and they sit and smoke and curse us both...but she still comes nevertheless!

So there I am quite happy languishing in my sea of snotty tissues and surrounded by various sinus-related products and I hear the jingle jangle of keys. Given that Steve isn't normally back from work til about 9ish, I was slightly alarmed. And then in she walked and I was even more alarmed.

Being a girl I am then faced with an entire truck load of guilt and issues. First and foremost I feel she is looking at me thinking, "this is the squallor of your sodding boyfriend, you lazy b*tch, why can't you get up off your sorry ar*e and do his cleaning".

So I leapt off the sofa and into action. It was ludicrous, we were pitching our cleaning skills one on one in a fight to the bitter end (and those of you who know me know that when I want to, I can CLEAN).

There was dust flying everywhere, 'Cif' being squirted quite unnecessarily, sweeping, wiping, and general hubub. Frankly I feel she got the upper hand, and I attribute that to her ability to lunge neatly because of all that lycra in those leggings.

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I gave up after an hour- I felt I was treading on her toes. I wrote a very short list of things I knew needed doing and asked her sweetly in my best ill voice. She's a feisty so and so is Alena, and she fixed me with her cold blue eyes when I began reading, and tutted and 'tsk'ed more loudly with every job.

My parting shot in a pathetic attempt to make myself feel better as I snuck out was asking her if she wanted anything from the supermarket? Turns out she did. Toilet cleaner. Bathroom cleaner and Kitchen cleaner.