This evening I will mainly be searching for a new house. This one is not doing what we thought it would when we bought it.
The principal problem is that it has no airing cupboard.*
This is the only possible reason I can pin point that I have not morphed into the Wonder Woman that I imagined as soon as we received the keys. Unbelievable.
This house promised much- the vision was clear;
The images of the kitchen informed me that I would become an accomplished chef knocking up a soufflé at the drop of a hat, feeding my children a range of utterly organic, picked from the garden, delights daily.
The pictures of the bathroom allowed my mind to wander to the incredible new beauty regime that I’d be absolutely rigorous about. This in turn would turn back the clock so far that when I opened the door to sales people they asked if my parents were home (or, since I’d taken the time to learn French, whether I was the criminally attractive nanny).
The garden and garage lead me to consider a home gym and daily yoga ritual. Clearly, I’d become a lean, lithe, bendy, triathlete, Wirrals equivalent of Jessica Ennis if you will.
(Don’t comment on the fact that she is a heptathlete. This isn’t all 100% factually accurate. Feel free to comment on other bits though).
The enclosed porch ensured that we would be the sort of family that would automatically remove our shoes, swapping them for cosy UGG slippers, as soon as we got through the door. No scuff marks for us thank you very much.
*The increased levels of space screamed; YOU ARE SOOOOOOOO ORGANISED. YOU WILL NEVER LOSE ANYTHING AGAIN. EVER.
Then they whispered seductively, and your clothes will always, always be hung up (and not on a cheap wire hanger!)
I was fooled dear reader, neigh conned, into thinking that it was the house that would do all of this for me. Not so my lovelies, not so.
This is what actually happens in our hovel
Culinary delights that I have knocked up so far this week include;
Uncle Bens microwave rice (I added a tin of tuna to ensure balance)
Beans on toast- minus the beans
A fruit salad (not really a salad as such, just one fruit eaten after the other, labour saving.
I’m not going to sell myself short though- I did make a cracking baked ham and a trifle (sans cream-forgot in my panic) for my mums birthday last weekend so it’s not a total lost cause.
Re my beauty regime- this basically means that I sometimes put on make up. Even though this is occasional at best, I believed the woman at the MAC counter who (was totally lovely) suggested that if I just bought X, Y and Z that I’d look fresh faced and glorious each day. The routine would be so quick and easy- hum…the lesson took 90 minutes, how was that EVER going to translate to under 4 minutes- answer? It wasn’t.
I am sure I would look an utter dream if my lipstick hadn’t be mangled beyond recognition on day two and if I rose at 5am to shower, dress, meditate and apply my make up with brush 187 (a duo fibre brush you idiots) and then follow up with the powder to ‘contour’ my moon face (brush 168, natch!)
Sometimes, when I have enough mental and emotional strength remaining, I remove the make up at the end of the day. This is rare but when it happens it is usually with a baby wipe. #Soz
Oral hygiene means remembering to put in some gum before conversing with adults.
The yoga that I planned to practise daily in the garden has
Ah, the no shoes in the house policy. This is working famously. My UGG slippers are so comfy and match perfectly with the girls and Mr L’s. it really allows us all the opportunity to feel snug, cosy and really relaxed at home.
NB- Some/all of this paragraph is an utter fabrication.
Fitted wardrobes-These are the biggest source of my frustration. They- much like the Pacapod of my earlier post– are not magic. ANNOYING. Really bloody annoying.
The house fills with washing daily. The wardrobes basically spew out laundry.
The wash basket is basically a torturous version of the magic porridge pot- that does not even allow for all the shit that doesn’t even make it into the basket.
I start the whole washing rigmarole-washing in machine, forget washing in machine, washing stinks, re wash washing with additional items.
This continues verbatim until there is just a lone sock in your drawer, tucked in between the redundant Anne Summers (I want to pretend I am more Agent Provocateur but that would be a big, fat, lie) clobber that now might as well serve as dusters; small dusters- my dust would be no match for these slithers of material).
Eventually the cycle is broken and clean dry clothes arrive upstairs again. They rarely make it to the nirvana of the afore mentioned total storage solutions. Our bedroom looks like Primark on Christmas Eve (minus the people- we aren’t sex people Lynn!)
SO- as I say, I am looking for a house with an airing cupboard, I think that should fix all of the above, no questions asked. Any ideas where I might find one?!…
PS- My mother helpfully pointed out that I could be far far closer to the lifestyle porn that I envisage, if I stopped with this bloody blogging, got off my ass and did the ironing/dusting/hoovering/soufflé.
She’s not wrong but that stuff is just so much less fun, I don’t think it will ever happen.
PPS- Since I originally published this post I have realised that in fact it isn’t an airing cupboard that is the problem…it was a washing basket…with built in sorter. Yes…that’ll fix it!
Tell me I’m not alone?!