Real life | 21 January 2012

The visit from the accident assessor appointed by the insurance company sent me on a cleaning spree involving industrial quantities of bleach.

I spent the hours preceding his arrival subjecting every corner of my flat to a thorough going-over. Then I lit scented candles and brewed fresh coffee.

‘What am I doing?’ I muttered dementedly as I grabbed the dog and deposited her in the bath 20 minutes before he was due. Cydney was happy enough. There’s nothing she likes better than lapping warm water from a shower spray while skidding up and down a bath tub.

‘Got to get you nice and clean,’ I said, as I emptied half a bottle of fiendishly expensive organic, fair trade, ‘no tears’ baby shampoo over her wiggling body. ‘Naturally pure for relaxed babies,’ said the label. Since when did we want our babies to be relaxed? It didn’t seem to be having a relaxing effect on the spaniel, in any case.

Cydney leapt out of the tub and span around the flat shaking water everywhere so I had to do the floors again. ‘Really — what am I doing?’ I muttered, as I moved the candles round, then decided to hide them behind a picture frame because I didn’t want it to look as if I was trying to set the scene for romance in a bid to bribe the man from Aviva.

I was considering a quick attack on the grouting with the toothbrush and cider vinegar when he knocked at the door.