"You can be Socialist and have staff you know, darling"...
I hate housework. I hate ironing, I hate dusting, I hate cleaning, I hate it all. Not that I don't like ironed clothes, a dust-free flat or a clean kitchen. I just can't be asked to do it. I'm lazy like that.
Years ago I saw an advert posted up in the now defunct London Lesbian and Gay Centre (LLGC) in Cowcross Street for 'cleaning services'. I couldn't quite get my head round the idea that someone would actually come round to my house and Hoover, dust and clean for what then seemed like a very small amount of cash. I just couldn't believe it. Cleaners were something rich people had and I was on a very (very) modest income at the time. I took a note of the number and arranged a meeting. Sure enough his man was happy to do all that he had said and more. I gave him a set of keys and every week I would come home from work to a spotless flat. I was amazed and ecstatic in equal measures.
Many years (and five cleaners) later we have just employed our latest cleaner. She is Lithuanian, comes on Mondays and Fridays and does the house from top to bottom. She puts the washing on, washes up, irons, dusts, tidies and generally makes the flat a joy to live in. She lets herself in at 8:30am and stays for three hours each day. That's six hours a week. I try and leave about the same time for work each day so I can say hello. And a thank you. A big, big thank you. For this woman is a star. A saviour. For I shall never have to do housework again.