Martin the Mouth was a long-haired and shaggy East Londoner who used to hang out at the Hind’s Head of Bray in the late 90’s. Everytime he came in, he’d try and recruit me for his deep kitchen cleaning business. While there was no other way I’d have rather spent my one day off a week, the notion of spending 12 hours scrubbing through years of muck within derelict kitchens around London frightened me worse than spotted dick.
“Cah mon Dave, me old China! – 20 pound an houwa, and only one day a week!” He was incessant. So finally I asked our chef, Gus, what a “deep cleaning” entailed. “All surfaces and equipment, mate. You don’t want none o’ that. Never mind with that Martin twat leadin’ the bleedin’ charge”. So that pretty much settled it – I would continue to spend my days off at the Hobgoblin in Maidenhead, and not deep cleaning grimy meat slicers from Windsor to Blackpoole.
Yesterday I wanted to do something productive that did not involve my laptop or the sun (I got seared again on Saturday), so I settled on a task I’d been avoiding for months – nay – over a year. It had been a good 365 days at least since I’d last deep cleaned my shower and bathtub. I stocked up at CVS with every related corrosive chemical known to mankind, cleared away all of my roomate’s girly shampoos/scented oils, and stepped sheepishly into the terrible tub.
Long story short – I scrubbed away for over 2 hours and the facility now glistens with nobility. But I simply cannot move today. My back, arms, chest – all stiff as a board. I walked to work today like a pre-oil Tin Man. However, I can now take a shower without having to worry about contracting West Nile.
Don’t you miss the days when you could go out and do something without it hurting for the next week? *sigh* It’s the main “getting old is for poopie-heads” grudge that I have.
Stay tuned for many other tales of our youth.
Cleaning the tub and tiles is my most hated household chore of all time. I have even contemplated hiring someone to do this job, but haven’t yet given in. Anyway, unlike Mr. Pye here, I probably get around to doing it 3-4 times a year (which without trying to sound too motherly, Dave, makes the job much easier). Anyway, the thing I hate the most about the job (next to the scouring and scrubbing) is the smell of the cleaning chemicals as they burn up what remaining brain cells I have left. The worst product for this is Tilex, which smells like undiluted pool cleanser and truly makes you dopey for the next two hours. Even though it makes the scrubbing easier, I have abandoned Tilex in favor of any other cleaning product I have around the place because it make brain sore.
I agree with Graeme, the chemicials really bother me too. But I do enjoy seeing that sparkle at the end…
I’ll take that sweet sparkle over cohesive thought patterns, anyday.