I was watching Poldark, my current favourite pastime and something I look forward to all week, when suddenly my rubbish phone stopped working 10 minutes from the end of the programme.
I was left dangling in mid air wondering whether Captain Poldark rescued his friend Dr Ennis from the French prison. I kept trying my phone over and over but my screen would freeze just at the crucial point.
Then I gave up and went to sleep, so imagine how pleased I was when I woke up the next morning knowing I had still 10 minutes of Poldark left to watch and it gave me something to look forward to all day. But by the time I snuggled into bed ready to carry on the story, the phone froze again.
I threw it across the room. Then crawled back to retrieve it and watched EastEnders instead. I can’t help it, I know it’s all so bad spending mindless hours watching rubbish TV, but there is definitely something in the whole thing about escapism.
To switch off from your normal life and existence and step into a different world with different people who all have their own problems. It’s also a way of unwinding and relaxing before bed.
I remember there was a time that my mum was addicted to South American soap operas, dubbed in Polish, by the same male voice for all the characters with absolutely no change of voice or emotion. It was so awful that I couldn’t help but watch it as well but for totally the wrong reasons.
Perhaps I should see if I can get my hands on a box set, that should keep my mum amused for hours – and me, for that matter.
The other day I spent the afternoon with my mum and I came away thinking about the fact that I have two boys that are growing older and are becoming more independent, needing less looking after and my life is becoming easier. On the other hand I have a mother who, as she is getting older, needs more looking after, will start to lose her independence and I know that things will become harder.
At the moment I feel squashed in the middle of two generations of family and I’m the ham in the sandwich. Recently I had a really busy weekend planned and I decided to make things even harder for myself by agreeing to look after my friend’s children as they were going away for the weekend.
Yes, I know, you’re asking yourself what on earth was I thinking?
As if I didn’t have enough on my plate already, it’s like why did we get a dog just when things were settling down and becoming easier with the kids? I just don’t understand the thinking and rationale behind it.
Maybe it’s normal for human beings – or maybe just for me. Anyway so my weekend began on the Friday when I had the day off work and I had my bottle of bleach ready and a brand new pair of marigolds that I treated myself to.
I have to say, it was weird but I was really excited to get stuck into removing the dirt and grime from my house. I can’t bear a dirty house but I had been so busy with work and everything that I just didn’t have the energy or the time to clean (I know you’re thinking I should spend less time watching soaps and more time using it).
So there I was, scrubbing away in and out and around the toilet. Then the sink, shower, bath and floor, it took me over an hour and I was exhausted, then my two sons’ rooms. A proper clean with things being pulled out from under the bed, not so thorough that all the clothes are folded away in the drawers though.
So, I moved downstairs and carried on solidly until 3pm. I didn’t stop for lunch or a cup of tea as I knew I was up against the clock, the place was spotless and clean, a good day’s work.
Our white floorboards were no longer patterned with brown mud and other dried stuff or areas going yellow. I was shattered but happy. I picked up my friend’s children from their school and brought them to ours.
The youngest zoomed into the house, didn’t even have time to take his shoes off as he ran up to the loo, and obviously me in tow in case he needed help with anything as he is only four or maybe five.
But I was too late, there he was standing at the loo having missed the toilet bowl and aimed for the toilet seat and hit the floor instead. He must have known that I had just spent hours cleaning the bathroom.
Next stop all the kids decided to build a den in the bedroom, not any ordinary den, but one that involves every pillow, cushion and covering in the house, this den had many floors. The second room to be trashed in the house… I stood there in the doorway admiring their architectural minds at such a young age, but deep inside my little volcano was bubbling. Next stop was the garden and didn’t they have fun in the dirt and mud, and when my back was turned for a minute, my newly cleaned, sparkling white floor was no more.
The brown patterns had returned and on top of that, the dog had stepped in his own brown stuff in the garden and brought it in to add to the mess.
My volcano exploded inside, quietly, nobody else heard, I stormed outside to grab the mob and bucket, it was all I could do from screaming the house down or bursting into uncontrollable hysterical sobbing.
Now you see why I am addicted to Poldark and EastEnders, it’s my escapism from my world of constant cleaning, which for your information I really hate but I hate a dirty house even more.