Cleaning or baking..I know which I prefer.

I only wanted to hoover the rug. You see there is a bit of a stain on the rug. Moo got some wonderfully livid drinks and decided to sit in the middle of the beige rug and drink one of them. Of course you already know what happened and for some time now there has been a vibrant patch of orange right in the middle of it. At the time of the spillage we used the tried and tested methods of stain removal and all that we achieved was a slight dimming effect, and since then it has been a minor irritant. I happened to mention this to a friend of mine and she dashed off to her under-sink cupboard and produced a can of what she claimed to be the best stain remover in the whole of France, all you had to do was spray it on, rub it in and an hour later hoover it up and voilà. Easy. So the spraying and rubbing had been done and whilst waiting for the allotted hour to pass I indulged in a spot of light dusting to pass the time. When I got the hoover out the first thing I remembered was I needed to change the bag. As I tried to take the bag out of the machine it jammed, so I tugged a little harder. A little too hard as it turned out. The air was thick with the contents of my previous month or so’s cleaning, every surface in the living room, myself included, was coated in a thin layer of grime. So much for the dusting. With the rug temporarily abandoned I set about the room with all the energy I could muster, no longer would a light dusting be sufficient and all the tools and potions of my own under-sink cupboard were called into action. 2 hours later everything in my living room and kitchen, myself and the rug excepted, was gleaming. I set about hoovering the stain on the rug, and the stain was defiantly a slightly paler orange, but the best stain remover in the whole of France had let me down. Slightly broken but not yet beaten I took the last available course of action left to me. Up to the bath with large rug, some detergent and a stout brush. The amount of dirt that came out of the rug was enough to make me feel slightly nauseous. And to think I have been sitting on that, eeewww. Half an hour of vigorous scrubbing and rinsing later I was finally satisfied that the rug was once again fit for human habitation so I wrung it out as best I could and hung it over the railings in the back garden and wondered exactly how long it might take for it to dry. Still no rain forecast all week, although it may be in danger of freezing if left out overnight. And although I was absolutely shattered and my hands were feeling like old chewed leather ( sadly I had forgotten to replenish the stock of marigolds in my under-sink cupboard after Chimney shredded my last pair on her previous bath time), it was worth it, because even if you look really closely there seems to be no trace of orange.
After my mammoth unplanned cleaning spree on Monday, Tuesday was supposed to be the day I caught up on all the things I was going to do on Monday. At 8.45 I got a phone call from one of my friends telling me her car had broken down and could I take her eldest to school in town once I had dropped Moo off at the village Of course I said yes, so after a couple of school runs , a trip to the garage and a thank you coffee, I returned home to another phone call informing me I had to post something to the UK with some urgency, so it was back to town again, at least this time I had my purse and shopping list with me so that was one thing I could tick off the list. The afternoon was once again taken up with my ‘stand-in’ swimming duties, and with another trip to town to pick up my friends eldest after school plus a run to the bank for another friend as I was going to town anyway, that was my day pretty much done. Aside form a Much needed G&T.
Today started with my English tutoring and yet another incomprehensible French lesson for me. We were covering the thorny tenses of past and past imperfect, and I can honestly say that I after almost an hour I am still none the wiser. Some days I just feel like giving up.
To take out my frustration I decided the best course of action was to make some bread. I gave up my bread machine when we left UK and with so many wonderful local bakers there has never been a shortage of freshly baked bread, but sometimes you just feel the need to knead. I have never made bread sans machine before and there isn’t a great family tradition with bread. Naming no names, but there is a legend in our family that a certain persons bread rolls were used as practice balls by the local cricket team, so it was with great astonishment that I had a lovely light crispy loaf at tea-time and some wonderful rolls for breakfast. I may not be able to speak French, but at least I can bake French.
A bientôt.


Author: hillywillyworld

Living as an 'ex-pat' in Thailand with my daughter Moo and sometimes my Hubby too (when he is not bringing home the bacon from Macau). Sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's tough. Sometimes it's confusing. Most of the time it's just...random. Join me as I struggle and giggle my way through this thing called life.

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