With guests arriving this evening, Bob and I have been busy ensuring that the flat is truly welcoming. While I’ve been tidying up, changing bed linen and towels, Bob has been working away, relatively quietly, cleaning the floors: no mean task in a 200 sq m flat. Generally, I just leave him to get on with it however I do keep an eye on him as he has a tendency to escape onto the balcony (cleaned yesterday) and, very occasionally, gets stuck under one of the cupboards.
Who is this paragon of virtue? He’s an automatic floor sweeper and he’s made my life so much easier. If only the same company made one which ironed! Yes, the ironing mountain is starting to build ahead of the Vuelta. At the moment, it’s composed largely of shorts and polo shirts. But once my beloved has been on a few business trips, formal shirts will be added to the growing pile.
Meanwhile, back to Bob who’s still circumnavigating the flat, sweeping up today’s accumulated dust. I should add that he also leaves the marble looking really shiny. I’m sensing that Bob gets a wee bit lonely all on his own and that I may be forced to acquire him a mate. More specifically a mate who washes floors after he’s swept them. Isn’t it wonderful that us girls can acquire all sorts of hardware to alleviate the drudgery of housework, and give us some pleasure. Who needs boys?