Saturdays Suck

If you're looking for excitement . . move along now!

I don't like Saturdays. They're the sixth day of work (although generally the household denies housework as work at all) and apart from a couple of glorious hours late in the afternoon, they are full of thankless chores and grind. I get up pretty early, I should write "Diary of an Insomniac" and have the obligatory two cups of tea (white and one if I drop into yours) and one cup of coffee whilst browsing the blogs. In Spring, Autumn and Summer, I have coffee and a long chat with my sister but the current kiddy soccer season means they're out and about on Saturday mornings while LittleNeph farts around on the field, so I haven't been over for a few weeks now other than midweek to feed the nags.

Occasionally, as was the case this morning, (damn you Notsoanonymous . . I wouldn't have even gone there if you'd called!You know you're my chore avoidance strategy!) I began to tackle that pig-sty that is DrummerBoy's bedroom, (while he pootles around at The Merry Widow's to build a retaining wall as his first 'independent' landscaping job). "Mum . .I work . .I can't be expected to keep everything tidy as well . . " Strange how boys can multi-task on Code of Conduct or when eating a kebab in the car!

First, I pick up the rubbish on the floor, remove the six glasses of water from his windowsill. All filled with varying amounts of water as if he's pinging each with a chopstick and practising his late night rendition of Tubular Bells. Then there are the beer bottle tops that have accumulated. No beer, just the tops. He thinks if he puts the beer bottles in the bin, I won't notice that he's been playing PS3 late at night . . no of course not . . .tell-tale caps . .she won't notice!

Moving right along, time to strip the two quilts he has because he thinks it's cold, pillows and bed sheets . . remake the bed which is no mean feat since he has a cast iron, double bed in a shoebox jammed right up against the window. I'm in a sweat before I get the pillowcases on. Dust the shelves, including the Lego Darth Vader that threatens to fall apart with the slightest tip of the magic duster, wipe the screen and the PS3 and rescue the plethora of CD's and game DVD's that have fallen down the back of the shelving unit - I don't even want to know what they do in that bed to unstack a pile of CDs . . . Then pick up the three empty cans of deodorant scattered under the bed (there's somewhere else I avoid like the plague - under the bed *shudder*). I then 'enjoy' a bout of 25 consecutive sneezles thanks to the accumulation of lint and crap floating up my schnoz. Almost done but I have yet to put away last week's washing! Yep, it's still sitting on his chair all dishevelled and mooshed. Then match a gozillion pairs of odd sock before getting so frustrated I just shove 'em all in the little 'itty bin that is the receptacle for lost socks in the hope that one day their partner might turn up. They rarely do. Where on earth do they go? Finally, vacuum the teensy bit of exposed carpet of landscaper's mud and grit which fills half the Dyson canister! There, it looks tidy and smells sweet . . . for now! Seriously, it took me an hour and half to get a 12 x 12 foot room looking like it was livable.

36 single socks Where the hell are their partners?

Then the bottles. God we drink a lot . . well we have a mass of recyclables at the end of the week. Mainly due again to my penchant for Chardy and DrummerBoy's love of cheap beer in small bottles . . combine them with the paper waste and it's three trips to the recycle bin before I can set foot in the laundry.

Ah the laundry . . the bain of my weekend. I have a feeling my tax cheque will be spent entirely on a new washing machine since the spin cycle is dodgy and clothes are sopping wet half the time unless I carefully raise and lower the pump hose as so that it syphons. I literally stand there for the entire spin cycle raising and lowering the hose in order for the water to drain! I have washing elbow! I thought with ClareBear away, my washing would halve . . it hasn't, it's tripled thanks to Drummerboy being particularly clean and going through three sets of clothes each day and five bath towels a week. Anyone would think he'd spent his formative years living in a hotel with room service . . I really must teach him how to use the washing machine, if only to appreciate the time consuming attention it receives on Saturday mornings!

Then it's a bun fight for the washing line as Stressany seems to have washed every item of clothing and linen that they own next door. Pegs are at a premium and she's purloined three of the four sections of the hills hoist! (they never buy pegs?*@!!) There are RULES, two sections each! She on the other hand, hangs out her washing and spends the next 5 hours of the day sitting at the kitchen table completing her Sudoku! At least it's sunny and windy so things dry in an hour or so. I don't iron, I can't be bothered so I iron as I go but I have become expert in the art of fabric origami and can fold so neatly that ironing is rarely required . . I know . . . it's a gift.

Then there's the rest of the Saturday workout,some stretches to start with a damp duster or the magic job, a bit of bending and stretching in the bathroom as I manage to scour the sink with a bucket of Gumption and bend over a bath (which we never use) full of pubes and watch them spiral merrily down the drain. Then, a few lunges with the Dyson and some side-sways with a mop. Who needs a gym! Not to mention the 20 metre walk to the washing line and bins! It's a workout alright.

So here I am at5:56pm . . just about to hit the shower before heading up to the supermarket and his nibs has slipped in there before me, left his chin shavings in my schparkly sink and of course a wet towell all over his BRAND NEW LINEN! Cheeky monkey . . .ah well . . the house is clean, the washing done, dinner organised, (home alone so green tiger prawns with vegetarian ravioli and rocket). The leaves are blown, pool backwashed, (although I still have two ducks who refuse to vacate the premises and continue to poo on the coping stones despite last week'd Karcher and chlorination), the pot plants watered. For the next few hours . . .bliss, with little more than a farting dog and a girly DVD to entertain me! Then it will all start over again!

Such is my Saturday . . exciting init?

Edit: I am slightly prone to exaggeration!