Tuesday, 23 February 2016


Just a drop in the bucket . . .
I’m a messy little pup.

Most people know this about me. I seem to create a little mess around me wherever I go. One of the boyfriend’s couches is completely covered in my stuff. (He has offered to give me wardrobe/drawer space but because we often stay at mine too the couch seems like an easier place to store my crap.)  In my own flat there is a suitcase on the living room floor with the clothes I didn’t wear from my last holiday . . . in October last year.

Yes. I’m a nightmare.

Sometimes I think I would love to be one of those people who are mildly obsessed with keeping everything neat and clean. But sadly I am not.

So, if you are anything like me, here are some struggles you might understand . . .


Washing dishes is a nightmare. But you need to eat. So you either have to try and use as few dishes as possible, in many inventive ways such as using the inside of the lid of the tub you’re putting your lunch in as a substitute chopping board, or get someone else to do them for you. Even worse than the dirty dish dilemma is the “week's worth of dirty dishes you’ve been putting off doing” dilemma. Which is a whole other nightmare and may involve you just throwing out some of the dishes rather than actually washing them all. (Yes. I have done this before. I’m not proud.)


Clothes go in the washing machine. They then need to be hung up to dry. By the time you’re doing this you already have more clothes that need washed. There’s just no end!!!


Anything you clean is pretty much instantly dirty again. The oven, the bathroom . . . it kind of makes you wonder what the point is.

Gosh, is there anything nicer than getting into a bed with newly clean sheets? Probably not . .. but trying to actually change the sheets and put a new cover on the quilt is so exhausting it could actually double as your exercise for that day.

I don't think I need to say more than this, except one time in my old flat I was trying to vacuum in the flat hallway and Henry the Hoover nearly gave me a heart attack when I turned around and his smiley red face was following me. I don't know where I thought he would be...

It was bad enough when I lived in a first floor flat – now I live on the third floor it’s even more of a chore. Especially if it’s been left for a couple of days weeks. And unless it’s timed with the day the rubbish has been uplifted it can be a struggle to even find space for it in the bins.

I think I need a maid. . .

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