As mentioned yesterday, the Polly household has been a hive of activity. The ‘new suite of doom’ is due to be delivered tomorrow by the furniture company of the three randomly chosen letters.
We finished the titivating. I say ‘we’ but I am a) hopeless with a paint brush and b) Mrs P is much better at these things. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
The idea was to take the opportunity of having a living room devoid of furniture to get one of those Rug Doctor machines in to sort out the carpets. Wrong. All four cleaners were out. Nip to Homebase, same story. Not a carpet-boiler to be had.
Mrs P’s eyes were turning pear-shaped at this point. Me, I remained positive and took us on a circuitous tour of the M60, Sainsbury’s, Adsa et al and no joy. The trick, it seems, is that the store has a dry-cleaners. DC and rug doctors go together apparently.
Twas then I was given a clue. “You could try Reddish,” said the woman at yet another Morrisons. “They’ve got a dry-cleaners there.”
I wasn’t prepared to take this on her word and went home to place a store call before committing myself to a four-mile drive. “Yes, we’ve got all four available,” she said. Dirty buggers in Reddish I thought before jumping into the jalopy.
Getting the vac-with-attitude home, I set about the living-room, hallway, stairs and landing. I gave up there, back and shoulders aching. But I had clean carpets, if somewhat damp.
The thing is though that of the several gallons of slurry that I threw down the drain, it was horrid. It looked like… well slurry. Dark and gloopy. And in the collecting tank, so much gravel and sand as you might expect on Baywatch.
And we spend Saturday nights eating our takeaway from that very same floor! But then we all eat a peck o’ dirt before we die.