Wash Away The Pain (Aug 2004)

They didn't stand a chance.
Poor unfortunate souls...

Let me explain...
Since my return from the tropics, I have only been doing a cursory clean of my flat.. you know... sweep here and a wipe there but nothing on the scale of which I am known for... (for those of you who know I am a bit of an Obsessive Compulsive lass). So, with my recent childless state and sudden influx of dinner invitations and nightclub dates, my once pristine flat progressively transformed itself into a quagmire, clothing-carpeted floors that were once laminated, murky tiles and sofas buried under by piles of clean laundry, begging to be ironed or folded away!

I tried to ignore it, to deny that urge to attack it with zest, but when I started losing things, I could take it no more! And so, I cleared my diary and booked in two days of 'me' time.

I opened my cleaning cupboard, that hallowed place the uninitiated are forbidden to enter... my eyes wandered over the Anti-bacterials, and the Eco-friendlies, the piles of special cloths and sponges... but I could not find what I really wanted! A trip to the supermarket was in order.

I cannot describe the thrill I felt walking towards that aisle... my pulse started racing, the excitement welled up in my chest... I understood how shooters feel when buying their hand guns, how Nadine feels about Jimmy Choos, how Marie feels about Gucci and Prada; how my daughter feels in the Barbie aisle!

Lesser products tried to seize my attention, products with exotic sounding names, fruity fragrances or fancy colours, but I was not to be swayed. There was only one product for me... and I wasn't leaving without it. He called out to me as I stepped up to the shelf, standing proud and regal, a head above his competitors. My breath caught in my throat as I passed my fingers over his packaging... oh yeah .. this was the one. I couldn't wait to get him home.

So there I was, all gloved up and rearing to go, duster on one hip, sponge on the other, and in my palm, my weapon on choice: the Spray Bleach. With careful aim, I tackled it all, the skirting, the doors, the taps, the sinks, toilet, bathtub, worktops, fridge, cupboards... you name it - I bleached it. Inside and Out. This house is only big enough for so many microscopic organisms, ultimately there can be only one ... ME.

I did everything the old fashioned way, remember the way your mother taught you (well mine did), before there were all these fancy cleaners like Flash and Mr Muscle - there was bleach. "Kills Germs Dead" (lol). They did not stand a chance. I looked at the mop and looked at my sponge - I wanted to do it the old way... I got down on my hands and knees and started scrubbing. Felt like a soldier - but I just didn't trust the mop to make my tiles shine the way my elbow grease can! Yes, there were times I felt giddy headed from the fumes - but hey - no pain no gain! Sweat poured from my brow and I felt as though I was doing the equivalent of a proper aerobics session! I was stepping and lunging and doing arm lifts and all kinds of crazy stuff. I reorganised every cupboard in my kitchen... the stainless steel cooker is almost painful to look at... my windows are spotless.

On my knees I got to thinking, and I had a moment. One of those moments, where, for no reason at all - you change, just like that. As I sprayed and scrubbed and sprayed and wiped, and washed and put things away, I felt as though I was cleaning up my life.

Every movement became symbolic, I wiped away the grief of that terrible night in 1997 when my child was conceived; I scrubbed away the pain, anger, turmoil and anguish of the past 3 years; washed away the memories of so-called friends who betrayed me; people who lied to me; abusive partners who humiliated and denigrated me; smoothed out the wrinkles that my illness has etched in my soul; and put away the things that make me bitter and resentful.

I turned the corner.

And just as the grime washed away from tiles, so the scales and thorns fell away from my soul, the shell cracked... and I , for the first time in 6 years, ventured out of my psychosis, ready to take on the world again... to recover what was lost, and to complete this journey of healing that I have struggled through for so long.

Hey, I'm alive.

Ok so enough of the deep stuff... after 8 hours of elbow grease, love and attention, my flat smells like a hospital, but it is absolutely gleaming! And if this Investment Banking thing doesn't work out - I can always go work with Jeyes or Domestos right?



The Queen is Back
(Queen of Clean that is)