Flying Pig

First posted March 2008 - things haven't changed much

I’m the first to admit that I am not the world’s best housewife. 

I particularly hate doing the stairs.  The hoover has not been invented that will do the job properly.  The main bit is too big and the attachment only sucks and doesn’t sweep.  There’s also the pain of pulling the whole thing up behind you.  Or the danger of leaving it at the top of the stairs and waiting for it to career down onto you when you’re half way down.  So I end up doing them with a handbrush.

Having a poorly shoulder means brushing down the stairs isn’t really on, so recently they’ve been even worse than usual.

Last night Number One Son surpassed himself in destructiveness and disembowelled a giant cuddly dinosaur all over the bedroom floor.  He was made to pick up as much stuffing as possible with a dustpan and brush, but at midnight (with his brother asleep) hoovering was not on.  
But he’ll do it when he gets home from school this afternoon.

When I got to bed Fester offered to carry the hoover upstairs, for which I was grateful. 

He is working at home today.

After seeing the boys off to school I was up here in the office checking emails and heard the cupboard under the stairs being opened.  Then the sound of something being plugged in. 
Then hoovering!

He’s only gone and hoovered the stairs.

This is the third time in fifteen years he’s hoovered; once in the twentieth century and twice in this millennium.

Which begs two questions:-

How bad were the stairs?

and

What’s he after?