Sneaky Washer Woman.

 Monday 27th October 2025

This morning was the usual round of housekeeping duties. Mum’s back was giving her a bit of jip, so I suggested she take it easy and let me do as much as I could alongside my usual vacuuming job.

“She’ll do anything to get her hands on your new feather duster, Jan,” Eric chipped in, trying to stir up trouble as usual.

In the end, Mum decided she’d just clean the conservatory and leave the beds until she felt a bit better. It was a fine day for washing, so I did them while she was out of the way. When she’s among her plants—whether in the conservatory or the garden—she becomes completely absorbed, oblivious to everything else going on around her.

It was worth the effort anyway; she was genuinely pleased when she realised how much I’d managed to get done.

After lunch, we went to church to take down everything we’d put up on Saturday and had a bit of a tidy while we were at it. I quite enjoyed it, to be honest—it took me into corners of the place you don’t usually get to see.

By the time I’d brought in the washing and folded it ready for ironing, it was time for tea and biscuits in the summer house—one of my favourite parts of the day. We spent a while there, talking about what we might buy Dad for Christmas, though so far, we’re still undecided. When someone has just had a new tractor everything else seems a touch trivial by comparison.

The sun was sinking by the time we came back to the house, the air cooling fast and the light turning soft and gold through the trees. Inside, the rooms felt warm and homely after the chill outdoors. Mum was humming quietly in the kitchen while I set the table.

“Feeling any better now?” I asked.

She smiled, straightening slowly. “A bit. Thanks to you—and your secret washing operation.”

I laughed. “Well, I knew you wouldn’t mind once you saw how clean the sheets were.”

“Hmm,” she said, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll let you off this time.”

The kettle began to whistle softly, and the smell of cooking drifted through the room. I sat down at the table, listening to the familiar sounds of home—mum's radio playing BBC Radio 2, the hum of the oven, the faint creak of the floorboards upstairs as dad readies himself for the evening—and felt that small, gentle peace that comes when the day’s work is done and all is well for a little while.