... buy a Hoover.
Well, perhaps not the first thing, but pretty soon afterwards.
Younger Son asked, 'Why are you cleaning before you go on holiday?'
'Because I want to leave it as I want to find it when I get back.'
Younger Son gave me a John 'you cannot be serious' McEnroe look.
It's worth a try.
He'll have a good excuse, although I'm not telling him. The Hoover is working to rule, but whose rule I'm not sure. It gathers debris - mostly George hair - from the carpet, rolls it up and spits it out. It makes it easier to gather by hand - or mouth if George gets there first - but doesn't leave an entirely satisfactory finish to the carpet.
* * * * * * * * *
When in M&S this week I thought I'd try on a (comparatively) cheap bra. I know my size and M&S is renowned for its underwear. But now I know why I have to buy expensive bras: as Husband would say, my dumplings were well and truly boiling over.