This is a favourite book. I don't know how it came my way; I'm almost certain it was a present from someone. Every so often I nearly manage to pass it on to a friend when I'm looking for a small gift, but my hmd hesitates, and it goes back on the shelf!
It's a picture book, with pictures of wonen doing ordinary housework, but done in the style of modern artists.
I think of it whenever I get out the duster and wreak havoc on the cobwebs that trail along the tops of the walls where they meet the ceilings. I've found the best technique is to use the massively ecologically unsound Flash Dust magnet, so I'm consumed by guilt every time I get it out... I hope to find a better solution one day. The feathers on my feather duster aren't firm enough and just dust them, leaving the strands in place. A broom or vacuum cleaner turns the cobwebs into black sticky lumps that glue themselves implacably to the ceiling.
But, by twirling the dust magnet gently along the length of the strand I can collect it like the girl operating the candyfloss machine at the funfair.
Overcome by success on the cobwebs front, I levered myself out of the settee where I was slumping, half asleep after lunch, and set about the sitting room bay windows which have been getting on my nerves every time the sun shines through them. I could manage to reach them by climbing onto the blanket chest pushed into the bay.I won't know if they are all streaky or not until the next sunny morning. That's the depressing thing about window cleaning; they look wonderful when you just finished them, and then, the next day, you realise you have to do them all over again!
These fits of houseworkiness don't come over me very often, more's the pity...
Another Limerick?
Don't mind if I do...
There was an old man of Tralee
Who was stung on the knee by a wasp.
When they asked 'does it hurt?'
He replied 'not a bit!
But I'm s glad it wasn't a hornet!'
Blame my dear old Dad, he taught it to us.
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