"If Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness...What Does That Make Us?"

Like butter wouldn't melt right?...WRONG

I was so excited today.  After literally weeks of trying to secure a new cleaner to help me keep this place in a state that would discourage the breeding of small insects and animals, I finally managed to hound down a lovely young girl named Olga.

She came recommended from a website, and it took me literally days of thinly disguised pleading and text-begging to pin her down to this initial visit.  I fear this shall be her last.

Not only is she still cleaning (we've just rounded the four hour mark here...three is standard in these parts), but she's having to do so amidst the din of screaming, feral little boys armed with Nerf Blasters...who, I might add, have, for the last few hours, been taking aim at her pretending she's 'the enemy'.

Before Olga came today I spent three (count 'em...three) solid hours running around 'pre-cleaning' the place in anticipation of her arrival.  But it wasn't my normal frantic scouring, tidying and wiping.  No, I couldn't do it properly because then there would be nothing left for her to do.  But at the same time I had to get it into an 'clean-ish' state (I was aiming for around 75%) so as not to repel her and increase the likelihood that she stayed with us for awhile and didn't develop some mysterious illness or fake pregnancy around week 3 which concluded her services with us.

As it turns out, I very much doubt she'll darken our doorway again anyway.  Not after today.  (Oh why oh why didn't I hold off and ask her to come when the monsters were at school in a few weeks?  And why did they choose today of all days to act out like savages?  Anyone would think that I had been feeding them E-number rich blue smarties all morning in preparation...)

Inexplicably they have both insisted on going trouser-less today and have been running around in just their pants.  It's been futile trying to forcibly dress them as the trousers have been shorn as soon as my back has been turned.  They have been involved in hardcore role play, screaming orders at each other and yelling '"Attack!  Attack!" every time poor Olga has come into view.  I struggle to think of which television cartoon or show has inspired this 'Lord of the Flies' behaviour today...but to be safe I think I'm banning channel 72 for awhile.

That way we will have blessed silence for the coming days...as we sit...the three of us...watching the place gradually gather in dust, crumbs and general debris, until it resembles its 'pre-Olga' state.  And I shall go online shopping and spend the money I would have given to dear Olga, on something pretty and pointless.

And why the heck not I ask you?

As soon as Olga catches sight of the hallway she just finished hoovering minutes ago (thanks Dumpie for your inspired idea of sprinkling finely-grained play sand onto the floor - thus turning a bog standard hallway into an indoor sand pit) it's going to be some head down incoherent mumbling about getting in touch again, followed by my shoving the contents of my wallet into her outstretched hand...followed by her pressing 'Delete' under my phone number as she hurries off down the street....

The perfect way to ensure a new cleaner doesn't return to your home ever again...