Monday 18 March 2013

You ever finish off the washing up in your kitchen and look at it the pile of clean plates, cups, bowls, knives, forks, spoons, fish slices, egg cups, pint glasses and griddle pans? It’s pretty good isn’t it. One, you’ve achieved something; Two, everything looks better a bit wet*; Three, you definitely have something in your comeback corner (“Oh I don’t do anything to help out? Well who did the pots LAST APRIL THEN???”).

There is generally a sense of satisfaction about the whole thing. And people reading this who are thinking, that sounds like someone who doesn’t do the pots a lot – if he can get that impressed by some pots. Well I would say that’s a fairly cynical view of the world. I do the pots plenty and each time still feels like I did something (man).

You’ve all ruined my flow, questioning my pot pride (not the Cambodian pro-homosexual movement) and just plain pissing on what I’m trying to do here, which is? Well I’m trying to postpone the point I’m making as long as possible so that when it arrives and it is disappointing it is even more disappointing than it would have been had it not been delayed for so long. You find me a reason why and I’ll show you a chaffinch’s nest – as my fictional grandfather used to refuse to say.

So, you’ve done the washing up and you’re looking at it. And you say, “You were fucking everything that was wrong with the plates in this house. You were dirty and needed cleaning. You were stained with memories of meals passed, of drinks no longer with us. But I broke you/the animal fats down with tough love/hot-water-and-biological-washing-powder and I cleaned you up good. Now you look like cutlery should look.” And you’re proud of how you helped these plates, these cups, these pans back to their best. And you think, I fucking did that – I fucking did all the dirty pots and everything is going to be all OK. No – it’s going to be better than OK, it’s going to be quite good.

And then you walk in your living room and what do you see? Your tray with your dirty plate on it from your tea. With a fucking unwashed knife and fork to boot. And at that moment you understand how people felt after 9/11. Outside a funeral cartege passes and the flowers spell out phrases that suggest it is someone very young who has passed – and I scream out of the window, “I KNOW YOUR PAIN!!!” and the people in the hearse look at me bemused as I wave the dirty plate at them and repeat the statement again (“I know your pain”).

But do they? DO THEY? They can have more children but I have already let the water drain out of the sink in the kitchen and I’ll be damned if I can clean a plate with cold water.

*Well not everything – a newspaper definitely doesn’t.

Why not follow me on Twitter (@house78) – How funny am I in Twitter format?! LOLZ

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2 Responses to Monday 18 March 2013

  1. jeltwink says:

    You wash your dishes with washing powder? X

  2. house78 says:

    IT’S A PARABLE HANNAH. But no, no I don’t.

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