Good morning dear reader and welcome to another Sunday at Comb Towers. Thankfully we seem to be inching our way towards Spring and I can't wait to get out into the garden and have a tidy up after the ravages of winter.
To be honest with you, I would be better off working outside, possibly even living outside in Spouse's shed, as every time I have set foot indoors this week, some minor catastrophe has occurred. Am I having a careless week or just attracting trouble? I will leave you to decide that one.
On Sunday evening, my domestic goddess status restored after last week's mishap, Spouse and I enjoyed our evening meal together in great harmony. Thankfully and believe me, dear reader, I take my crumbs of comfort where I can - thankfully, we had finished eating before I managed, with one careless sweep of my hand, to knock over my glass of wine and then the wine bottle as well, sending the red stuff all over the tablecloth, Spouse and thence to drip on to the floor. Why I can't just speak without waving my hands about like an agitated Italian I don't know and look at the trouble it gets me into? When I was younger, (a year or two back!), and blethering away at top speed and waving my hands about, my Uncle Ivor used to grab my hands and hold them tight and say, 'now talk.' And you know, dear reader, I couldn't. I don't know why my hands have to direct my words, a bit like a conductor keeping the orchestra together, but my hands definitely do the directing. Meanwhile, poor Spouse had lost most of his favourite wine and had to depart for a complete change of clothing and I had to depart for mop and bucket for the floor.
Things did not improve on Monday. Can you believe it, by 9.30a.m., my kitchen was awash with milk? My good deed for the day was to make Spouse a cup of coffee. The two litre container of milk shot out of my hand and went everywhere. Poltergeist? Dear reader, do not indulge in this practice as the aftermath involves an almost entire spring clean of the kitchen and then the floor to wash. Talk about Cleopatra bathing in asses milk, I had a Monday morning dousing in cow's milk, not a pleasant experience as it left a cheesy odour as it dried on my clothes. Yet another clean up ensued and I hadn't even been talking when I opened the milk.
I admit that Tuesday afternoon was all my fault. Mea culpa, I own up to this one. I put my oven shelves to soak in a large plastic tray filled with hot water and a couple of dishwasher tablets. They are brilliant at dissolving any grease on the shelves without any rub-a-dub-dubbing from me. After a couple of hours I took them out, now shiny and squeaky clean. Great, so far so jolly good. Now, in the normal course of events I would call for assistance from Spouse to help me in disposing of the dirty water down the sink. But Spouse was not around and so I decided to do the job on my own. I picked up the tray, it was a lot heavier than I had anticipated but, game on, I set off for the sink. Well, my dear reader, by the time I had made the journey from the kitchen island to the sink I had a full blown tsumani going on and not much of the water made it to the sink. En route It swooshed all over the worktops, (like the Monday milk) and all over the floor, with only the last dregs making it to the sink.
My dear Mama often used to call me a complete eejit and perhaps she was right. Or, maybe not. Dear reader, I now have an uber clean kitchen and the silver lining to my Tuesday cloud is that the spilled dishwasher solution cleaned up my kitchen floor tiles a treat, with no effort from me. Win win I think.
And so it was, until I got to Thursday afternoon. Spouse was down in his shed chopping firewood with his electric saws and I was in the house washing up after a late lunch. Usually we do this chore together, he washes, I dry and then ditch the water down the waste disposal sink. Ha, but as Spouse was not on hand I had to reach for the electric waste disposal switch myself and balance the washing up bowl on the side of the sink. The waste disposal requires immediate water over it once it's going or most alarming crunches issue forth from it. Hence balancing the bowl at the ready. I made the reach to the switch but lost control of the bowl with the result that most of it went on the floor, again. Not content with that, I went in search of the floor mop which was out in the garage and as I reached across a few other brushes stacked in front of it, stood on the head of a broom which jack-knifed onto my forehead. For my troubles I now have another clean floor and a lump the size of a hen's egg on my head.
Pity I didn't keep the water. Spouse has just returned to the house with a profusely bleeding hand. (Sigh). Here we go again and there is blood everywhere for the second time this week, from the front door step, through the hall and into the kitchen. I'd better go and get him strapped up; he's only got ten pints and I think one of them is now congealing on the kitchen floor.
I hope you have a good week, dear reader and it is my heartfelt wish that we all keep out of trouble, no accidents, no spills of any kind, just a nice trouble-free week. In my dreams ...