Blonde's Eye View: Cleaned out
Angela Clarke goes into mourning for the loss of her cleaner - but she suspects the sadness is born of another cause.
I have been abandoned by my cleaner. She has returned to Poland because she needs to see a doctor.
The NHS is that bad.
Some regard having a cleaner as an indulgence. I think it's a necessity. I'd even downgrade from Marks and Spencers to Tesco if it meant holding onto mine. Finding good staff is so hard these days. It's not just haphazard hoovering and dodgy dusting we're talking about. I once had a cleaner who made constant references to her links with the Bulgarian Mafia.
I became frightened if I didn't pick my clothes from the floor I would wake one day to a spotless horse's head in my bed. I would lock myself in the bathroom when she came.
Then there was the one who showed up drunk. At nine in the morning. I caught her asleep on the sofa in front of Jeremy Kyle.
My friends have had worse. One found her cleaner trying on her clothes. All the more disturbing because the cleaner in question was male. Another had to fire a cleaner because of the huge hairy wart she had on her chin.
OK, that last one was me again. It's not cool to sack someone who is facially impaired, but in my defence she did look like a Disney witch, and it twitched when she talked.
Once you find a good one you cling to them like stubborn grease stains on the hob. My cleaner ran my flat. She provided order in my life. She would open the windows in my home office, telling me I needed fresh air. She made me hangover cures after heavy nights. She would re-iron my work shirts to make me look smarter.
Oh my God. I haven't been abandoned by my cleaner, I have been abandoned by my surrogate mother.
This is worse than I thought.
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