Cleaning always provides me with lots of blog matter. With my brain free to roam I visit all sorts of entrancing worlds and then splurge it all out here. Where somehow it never seems quite so entrancing.
The double glazing salesman at the door deduced I was cleaning by my rubber gloves. I should have told him that actually Husband and I have a rubber fetish and could he come back at another time when we were less busy. Perhaps I'll save that for the Jehovah's Witnesses.
Or I could make a point of answering the door in rubber gloves and then exclaiming, 'It's no good telling me, luv, I'm just the cleaner. 'Er ladyship won't be back for hours.' (My apologies to all cleaners for my appalling stereotyping.)
On the point of doors and more particularly door bells, ours has the habit of ringing of its own accord at any time day or night. Fortunately you only need answer it if it sounds like the phone ringing. Which, worryingly, makes sense to me.
On a completely different topic I discovered to my great amazement that fruit flies are called that because they're the ones that hover around slightly past-its-best fruit. Actually I didn't discover it; it was more of a lightbulb-coming-on-slapping-head moment.
In prison on Sunday the chaplain asked if we knew anyone who was always right - or rather who always thought they were right. I thought of Husband.
My fruit fly revelation led to a discussion between us about Drosophila with me commenting on their small size. Husband said the ones he studied in school were the size of bluebottles. I rubbished that theory but he insisted he was right.
So today I googled fruit flies and, what do you know - I'm right. This in itself is such a rare occurrence that it's worth recording but I have to also record what Husband said when I told him. 'Well, we must have had a special large variety in our school.'