This blog post is brought to you by the word ‘down’. As in; on Wednesday evening, down fell a jar of passata from the tip top shelf of the cupboard, smashing into a trillion pieces as it hit the tiles, splattering the floor, walls, skirting board, door frame and neighbouring cupboards with a thickly dripping red glaze.
Or; on Thursday morning, down fell the bottle of Worcestershire sauce from the lower shelf of the other cupboard, down it bounced off the bin lid to scatter shards of pungent glass across the kitchen.
My mop has never seen such action.
Even the hyacinths got in on the action, bowing their heads low under the weight of their blooms. According to the combined wisdom of Google, I (and by I, I mean Asda) should have left them in the dark until a bit more of the flower head had appeared to ensure nice strong stem, but as a common denominator where supermarkets are concerned is the presence of lights to see to do your shopping, I think they were always going to be flopsy.
That alone would only get them half marks in our theme of the day, but they got a helping hand. The little beach bucket was quite happily sat on the kitchen windowsill, the scent overlaying the usual cooking and laundry smells (and according to H, giving the whole room a slightly Beconase fragrance), until I decided to bring it down to take some photos that didn’t include a bottle of Calpol, the washing up liquid and a million other bits of kitchen paraphernalia as a background.
With my track record for the previous 24 hours you’d think I’d have more sense, but no, one slip of a precariously balanced pot and my pretty blue hyacinths face planted onto the conservatory floor.
Cue the mop. Again.