In the Spring a young man’s fancy may turn lightly to thoughts of love, but a middle aged woman’s turns to bottoming.
Not a sedater form of twerking, but the deeply satisfying art of top to bottom deep cleaning your home.
I first read Miss Read’s stories of Thrush Green when I was a teenager, reading through my mother’s bookshelf. In them, Miss Read, the village school teacher, each spring and autumn, is thoroughly ‘bottomed’ by the redoubtable Mrs ‘Ma’ Pringle. Mrs Pringle was the school cleaner and did for Miss Read. Bottoming was something to be dreaded, but like going to the dentist, once done, one felt much better. Mrs Pringle, built like a tank, garrulous and grumpy, was one hell of a bottomer and someone who (even if she is fictitious) I hold in great awe.
As the sun rises higher as we move into March, it is now gently highlighting the many cobwebs bejeweled with mummified flies, and the rather feral dustbunnies lurking under the bed. The low, winter sun helpfully cast these into shadow, but now, there is no excuse – time to bottom!
I set aside a whole day for deep cleaning just one room – the bathroom – from washing the ceiling and walls down, washing the wood floors and skirting, sorting out the airing cupboard and generally decluttering the half used, out of date toiletries, face creams and other bathroom detritus. It took me about 4 hours and the damn room positively glows! How long that will last, is open to question. Frankly, my dear, I’m exhausted and my lightly thought plans of bottoming the entire house in a week has gone in the dustbin, alongside the empty shampoo bottle and manky soap ends.
Instead, I intend to respect my creaky limbs and bottom one room, once a week, until the house is done ; and while I’m a woman who’s intentions are good, I suspect that other than a cursory vacuuming and dusting, its going to be autumn before, once more, the glow of the harvest sun shames me into bottoming again.
