I woke up Saturday morning and it was 10.30. There are three reasons for this. 1. Husband away, so he wasn't there to turn over, make a noise like an elephant with sinusitis, then go back to sleep again. This usually wakes me up, and I'm sure every wife of every elephant who's ever had sinusitis will sympathise. 2. The previous evening's 'embarrassing visit to Poetry Slam' experience, detailed in last blog, took, I think, a greater toll on me than I had realised. To be precise about this, I had stayed up until 1am Googling the names of the people who won. As I couldn't actually remember their names, this took longer than it might have done. 3. Husband away, so I had not had to put up with the Arctic conditions he prefers for the bedroom, usually necessitating, for me, an extra quilt, fur-lined pyjamas and some leg and arm exercises to warm the bed up. Instead, I had brought upstairs a portable fire and turned it on. Why didn't you just t
urn up the central heating? I hear you say. Don't be silly. That's technology, and that's also the reason why I did no washing while he was away, nor did I put the dishwasher on.
You are wondering what all this has to do with the window cleaner.
Last time the window cleaner came for his Saturday morning visit, he started at 7.30am, on our bedroom window. Husband was downstairs already (woken himself up with the elephant sinusitis thing, probably). I was still in bed, and once I'd realised that the terrible metal banging noise was a window cleaner moving his ladder about under my window and not an invasion of robot burglars, I had to just lie very still. The blinds in our bedroom are not very good - put it this way, it would be more accurate to call them partially-sighteds - and I knew there were lots of gaps. He would easily have been able to see me, so the best thing to do was to play dead. Then, of course, although he soon finished with my window, he moved on to al
l the others (the bathroom (no blinds, not even partially sighteds), the toilet - ditto) which left me no option but to stay there until I heard him knock at the door, be paid by Husband, and then drive off.
So, back to this Saturday morning. I was lying in bed at 10.30, thinking, 'oh well, I must have needed the sleep' when I remembered that it was this Saturday that the window cleaner was due to return. Oh, joy.
There was no option but to get up. Without husband there, there was only me to pay him, so when he did come, I'd have to be up anyway. But this meant a) risking the toilet, still blind-free; b) risking having a shower in the blind-free bathroom; c) risking getting dressed in my bedroom with its partially-sighteds. There was no time to go and make my normal cup of tea in a leisurely fashion, then pootle back up for a lazy shower. Whoosh - in the toilet. Phew, no WC. (Window Cleaner. I realise there was room for ambiguity there.) Whoosh - into the shower. Couldn't have the radio on in case I missed the sound of the ladders. Whoosh - out of the shower, deodorant applied faster than a cowboy builder's gloss, and then into the bedroom (shafts of light playing on the bed) to get dressed. Again, no radio, just in case Crossing Continents meant I didn't hear his cloth Criss-Crossing the Window. I HATE NOT HAVING THE RADIO ON IN THE MORNINGS.
Downstairs, hair wet, deodorant having missed bits, and mouth as dry as a stale biscuit, there was a knock at the door. Guess who.
He was there for an hour. In that time, rather than having a languid breakfast, I made him a cup of tea, had to answer the door to another window cleaner who was advertising his services, then had to chat to our WC again who knocked at the back door to give me lots of reasons why we should keep him on and not
take the new chap. Then, I had to search the house for coins to pay him with because he said he preferred cash. I paid him £13.50, and to my reckoning, he owes me most of that for what I'd suffered. Yes, the windows are clean. But if Husband doesn't sort out the blinds in the bedroom and put the others up in the bathroom and toilet, this is going to be a monthly event. And you're going to have to read about it EVERY FOUR WEEKS.
Someone has to suffer with me ....
urn up the central heating? I hear you say. Don't be silly. That's technology, and that's also the reason why I did no washing while he was away, nor did I put the dishwasher on.You are wondering what all this has to do with the window cleaner.
Last time the window cleaner came for his Saturday morning visit, he started at 7.30am, on our bedroom window. Husband was downstairs already (woken himself up with the elephant sinusitis thing, probably). I was still in bed, and once I'd realised that the terrible metal banging noise was a window cleaner moving his ladder about under my window and not an invasion of robot burglars, I had to just lie very still. The blinds in our bedroom are not very good - put it this way, it would be more accurate to call them partially-sighteds - and I knew there were lots of gaps. He would easily have been able to see me, so the best thing to do was to play dead. Then, of course, although he soon finished with my window, he moved on to al
l the others (the bathroom (no blinds, not even partially sighteds), the toilet - ditto) which left me no option but to stay there until I heard him knock at the door, be paid by Husband, and then drive off.So, back to this Saturday morning. I was lying in bed at 10.30, thinking, 'oh well, I must have needed the sleep' when I remembered that it was this Saturday that the window cleaner was due to return. Oh, joy.
There was no option but to get up. Without husband there, there was only me to pay him, so when he did come, I'd have to be up anyway. But this meant a) risking the toilet, still blind-free; b) risking having a shower in the blind-free bathroom; c) risking getting dressed in my bedroom with its partially-sighteds. There was no time to go and make my normal cup of tea in a leisurely fashion, then pootle back up for a lazy shower. Whoosh - in the toilet. Phew, no WC. (Window Cleaner. I realise there was room for ambiguity there.) Whoosh - into the shower. Couldn't have the radio on in case I missed the sound of the ladders. Whoosh - out of the shower, deodorant applied faster than a cowboy builder's gloss, and then into the bedroom (shafts of light playing on the bed) to get dressed. Again, no radio, just in case Crossing Continents meant I didn't hear his cloth Criss-Crossing the Window. I HATE NOT HAVING THE RADIO ON IN THE MORNINGS.
Downstairs, hair wet, deodorant having missed bits, and mouth as dry as a stale biscuit, there was a knock at the door. Guess who.
He was there for an hour. In that time, rather than having a languid breakfast, I made him a cup of tea, had to answer the door to another window cleaner who was advertising his services, then had to chat to our WC again who knocked at the back door to give me lots of reasons why we should keep him on and not
take the new chap. Then, I had to search the house for coins to pay him with because he said he preferred cash. I paid him £13.50, and to my reckoning, he owes me most of that for what I'd suffered. Yes, the windows are clean. But if Husband doesn't sort out the blinds in the bedroom and put the others up in the bathroom and toilet, this is going to be a monthly event. And you're going to have to read about it EVERY FOUR WEEKS.Someone has to suffer with me ....
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