Eastern Block Cleaning.

Russian lorries are wild beasts. They lurch through obstacles with a giant’s tremble under black clouds of diesel breath. Close up they exude a primordial fear. It’s no wonder eastern Europeans are made of sterner stuff than us who grew up with Ford Transits. I realise now how this explains our Slovakian cleaner. She works harder than a Polish plumber, is as honest as a summers day in Finland, as reliable as the BBC pips, and brutal. Our lily livered western possessions are no match for her vacuum cleaner the size of a Humvee. I’m sure she uses an angle grinder on stubborn stains: I don’t know for sure because I retreat for fear of being cleaned. I’ve mended Mothermouse’s fragile American Indian figurine numerous times after an unfortunate duster whiplash. I think the first was our front room carpet, red Persian type. “The carpet is very dirty, I take it home and clean it.” I don’t know what she did to it but it came back dispirited, broken by the Slovakian inquisition. It’s now limper than a damp j-cloth. She moved on to the curtains, “They are very dirty Mr B. I take them home….” These Cole Brothers items came back four inches shorter with the lining a further two inches, clean and convenient for the cats but not as curtains should be. Luckily the oven withstood her attempts to purge its uncleanliness, protected by years of baked on food, but last week the hob got it. It comes up fine with gentle rubbing but obviously not clean enough. The coating on the knobs is now worn through in places thanks no doubt to the afore mentioned angle grinder. It’s difficult to know what to do with this cultural mismatch. How would Peter Crouch deal with a Russian wrestler? For sure it’s not the cleanest house in the world but it’s suffering from not being a rugged Russian lorry. Try saying that fast.