Sunday, 17 February 2013
For someone who loves domesticity as much as I do, I am, I'll shamefacedly admit, a pretty shoddy housekeeper. I'd like to claim, in my defence that I am both a conscientious mother and teacher and between them these leave me little time to clean the oven or wash down the skirting boards. Honesty compels me to confess though, that I always seem to find time to arrange flowers in a pretty jug, bake shortbread or reorganise my vintage teacup collection. It's a question of priorities I suppose and I've always chosen to put the fripperies that I enjoy before the hard graft. Things are starting to change though and it's in large part to this lovely book. Although it is ridiculous in places (do I really need dozens of pages of closely typed text on stain removing or slightly bossy instructions on how best to remove books from a shelf?) it is also an enjoyable, cosy read. Women of my generation - the horribly named "Thatcher's kids" - were brought up to expect much of ourselves in terms of career and life outside the home and therefore running an well-ordered, clean and comfortable home was not valued or considered important. Hence, I have got to my mid-thirties and am only just getting into a proper housekeeping routine.Of course, the seasonal urge to sort, scrub and clean brought about by the signs of Spring helps too. Plus I've developed a little method of doing a horrid job - scrubbing out that manky under-the-kitchen-sink-cupboard - followed by a lovely one - lining drawers with scented liners or organising the photographs into albums - which is working for me. My home is still FAR from perfect but I'm getting there. Still not entirely sure my mother would agree...
Posted by Jo at 23:55