Dishing the dirt on mum

A few days ago, our good friend French Fancy did a post about her Waste Bin. Sounds like a strange thing to do a post about but we bloggers do post about strange stuff sometimes, don’t we? Anyway, as mum was reading it, she started chewing her bottom lip guiltily and she gave me a few sidelong glances as if wondering what I was thinking, then she went straight into the kitchen, had a look at her bin and said “Oh fook!” whilst shaking her head.

I sneaked in afterwards, had a good look at it myself, and took a few photos. No wonder she was shaking her head. Though I say it myself, being a dog and all, and not minding dirt, IT IS FILTHY.

And no – that is not poo on it below, I had a sniff, it is a bit of curry.



Please don’t think my mum is dirty. She isn’t. Her surfaces and floors are clean and tidy, (though ‘tis true that she does not get into those corners that often, she’s not mad keen on dusting, and there are an abundance of spider’s webs lurking in the beams) but her drawers and cupboards are a mess “..what you can’t see doesn’t hurt…” is her favourite saying when Uncle Hugh complains about the state of them (but does nothing about it himself) and her ironing is presently taking over the spare room. The toilets, however, are so clean I could eat my dinner out of them (mum’s got this ‘thing’ about loos and scrubs them every day). But for some reason the bin has been sorely neglected.

I think that over the next couple of days, it will either be cleaned and bleached to within an inch of its life or it will be replaced. I have a feeling that replaced is going to be mum’s chosen option because mum often takes the easy way out. She’s thrown a few saucepans away in her time because they were too ‘burnt on’ and she couldn’t be bothered to wash them. However, plastic is tight at the moment, so she might end up cleaning it instead.

Mum doesn’t like housework, but she does it because she has to nowadays. When she was working in the UK she had this nice lady called Kath who used to come and do it for her but what made me laugh was that mum used to run around the house tidying it up like crazy before Kath arrived. I could never understand why she cleaned it in readiness for the cleaning lady. Go figure!

Mum’s most hated things are washing pots and ironing. She has a rather unhealthy, fervent attachment to her dishwasher. In the past I’ve known her put it on for only three plates and a mug because she DETESTS washing up. Apparently, it was her ‘job’ when she was a girl and it damaged her for life. I would be SERIOUSLY worried if she had to choose between me and the dishwasher.

Honestly, her carbon footprint must be humongous.

As for ironing. She hates it so much I don’t understand why she doesn’t just throw her clothes away when they’re ready for washing and buy new ones. It would take all the angst out of it wouldn’t it? Or, she could simply wear stuff without ironing it. Do those creases look so bad? They certainly don’t bother me.

A few more things mum hates: washing the car - I think I told you before, she never EVER washes it, she just buys a new one eventually. She always has silver cars because she says they don't show the dirt. The inside is the same. Filthy. Uncle Hugh calls it her 'skip'.

Mum doesn't like changing the duvet cover either. She'll change the sheets and the pillow cases regularly but refrain from changing the duvet cover until she absolutely has to - hence there are never any pretty matching pillowcases and covers on mum and Uncle Hugh's bed.

Mum hates doing windows too. They've lived in this house in France since December 2006 and she's only done the big window once (picture of me looking through it below) and the other windows - never. They are surprisingly clean, perhaps it's the clean air around these parts.

What mum does love - vacuuming. She says it gives her a feeling of satisfaction seeing and hearing all those bits being sucked up. I'm a bit wary of our vacuum. It's quite powerful and long and snake-like and I have visions of me being sucked up it and never finding my way back, so when the vacuum's out. I make myself scarce.

What’s your most hated chore? I don’t have any chores, because I’m a kept dog. Not a working one, like some.

Here are some more photos of me from behind because I got so many folk admiring my butt last time I thought I’d keep my ‘fans’ happy.

Me noseying out of the main window with my friend "Buddah guy", who's about my size.