Got an Alexander Technique lesson today. At the library. Free. Gonna have to nick my daughters camping mat, and wear black trousers.
Now I don't mind this, obviously. I signed up for it and everything. But also my heart sinks. Have to tidy the whole of the house before I go.
No-one's ever demanded this of me. Even when the children were little, Husband never used to say a word about the Teletubby floor puzzles and upturned beakers that greeted him when he came in. But somehow I have to.
Beds made, Shoe rack and coats tidied (a vital and underrated hallway factor), washing up and floor swept. Luckily I don't have to blacken the fireplace or clean the silver. But I like it to be nice for when kids and Husband walk in.
Think it goes back to when I was a child. My home being a shithole and that. Bed never made, lino never swept, the settee never cleared. So demoralizing to come back to. Think my mum couldn't be arsed. She never went to work or anything.
I like reading about the fifties and sixties and that. When housework really was a full-time occupation. When it was more laborious. Monday would be laundry, Tuesday ironing, Wednesday baking day, Thursday floor cleaning and Friday was polishing. Good days them!
When the children were toddlers, one day a week we would go round to my mate's who had a child of similar age. We would trash her house good and proper, and return to a serene and immaculate home. Of course it never stayed that way for long. Especially round teatime, but somehow it was soothing pshcologically. (can never spell that bloody word!).
And to return the favour, she would come round to me and do that same. Fair do's and all that.
Anyway, it would be suicidal to discover enlightenment at the local library, then come back to crusted oven dishes and that.
Will they let me smoke in there?