Housewife for a day

It’s been one of those days where I’ve had loads of jobs to do that have rendered me practically housebound for the day but have left me with a small sense of achievement as I sit and write this.

I did leave the house this morning to pick up some new cushions which I’ve been HIGHLY excited about since we had a new sofa last week – the delivery of which left me a nervous wreck as it wouldn’t go through the front door and the delivery men had to bring it through the garage, through the kitchen, out into the back garden and back in again through the patio doors, whilst unplugging and shifting various large electrical appliances that stood in their way during the process.  I was mortified – normally when you know in advance that long-standing items are going to be moved you can at least shove a feather duster down the back of them in a feeble attempt at passing for a domestic goddess.   No such opportunity here.  I quickly vacated the room at the point where one of them asked ‘Can we get this door off love?’  They got me back for their dust inhalation though – one of the guys managed to rip a massive chunk out of the kitchen flooring as he tried to force the fridge back into its rightful place.img_20160908_142156512

Anyway I’m rather chuffed with the cushions – in an attempt to avoid spillages, everyone is under strict instructions not to put their dinner plates straight onto them on those rare (every) days when we don’t dine at the table and we’re all being very careful when holding a drink.  This won’t last – I’ve already caught Eddy piling them up ready to high-jump over them……

So that was my one exciting trip today (unless you count going round to feed my Mum’s cat this evening) and for the rest of the day I’ve been dusting, tidying up, cooking delicious, nutritious meals to store in the freezer (well, I made a pasta sauce to use up some basil that was on its last legs and a curry that the kids won’t eat) and generally getting round to those boring jobs that I’ve been avoiding for a while.

One of which was tidying the TARDIS. I think I’ve mentioned this little cupboard under the stairs before.  Well, I say little but once you open the door to it, it’s a whole new ballgame.  Instead of people under there like in the good old days when my mates and I used to conduct all our drunken conversations in it, nowadays it houses coats, shoes, anything that doesn’t have a proper home and plastic bags.  A LOT of plastic bags.

Here’s how the TARDIS works. The kids and I leave our shoes and coats all over the house (because you never know when you might need them in an emergency),  Pud wanders around the house, collecting them up, opens the TARDIS door and throws them all in.  The shoes get thrown on the floor and jackets generally get thrown over the hoover handle (never mind that we have a shoe rack and coat hooks in there).  After this has gone on for a few weeks and a matching pair of shoes becomes increasingly harder to find, I crawl into the cupboard, throw everything back out again like a dog digging a hole for its bone, get rid of the odd pair of shoes (not literally odd, otherwise the wearer would be walking in a circle wouldn’t they?) and then proceed to arrange everything neatly. This process is repeated on a continuous loop.

Today I decided to inject a little excitement into events though by sorting all the plastic bags into various categories! After much consideration, I whittled our collection down to three different types:


5P?? Daylight robbery

1. Flimsy, bog-standard bags with handles that stretch down to the floor when you place more than one can of baked beans in them. 5p?? The shops should be paying me for the sheer humiliation I suffer when carrying one of these sad efforts around.

2. Slightly more upmarket, heavier duty bags. These are the ones that you put a birthday present in when taking your child to a children’s party because you don’t want them rocking up with an inferior bag as described in item 1 (Pud doesn’t understand this – he’s been known to shove a present in one of those opaque blue numbers that you get your potatoes in at the market and not bat an eyelid). Ideally you’d like this bag back as it costs more than the standard 5p but you have to pick your fights carefully. With good friends it’s permissible to remove the bottle of booze you’ve taken round to their house with a brazen cry of ‘Oh you don’t mind if I keep my bag do you, times are hard!’, with parents that you barely know, you’re best just to suck it up and hand the bag over.


I’m not giving you up without a fight

3. And finally, we have the hard-core, weekly-shop bags. Not for putting your dirty football boots and training equipment in (Pud), these bags need to stay pristine and primed for action at the supermarket each week. They each have a specific role – some will accommodate four loaves of bread perfectly, others are strong enough to carry all your tinned goods PLUS four pints of milk and a bottle of wine. Tamper with these bad boys at your peril.



The Daddy of all bags….or is it a rubble sack?

I’d welcome your thoughts on this – am I missing any glaringly obvious bag types?

So, with the cupboard tidied once more and new cushions plumped pleasingly on the sofa, I’m sitting here wondering how on earth women did stuff like this EVERY day not so many years ago. Admittedly they may not have been so anal as to categorise their carrier bags but even so, I don’t think I could be a housewife every day.  Normal, slovenly behaviour will resume tomorrow….







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