My first impulse was to shriek, E, there's a man outside with a squeegee! Oh yes, says she, and then launches into a long tale about the window cleaners who have been coming to her for yonks and how this, the son, has taken over from the father who is getting on, and what a good job they do and they didn't even charge her extra when they put the extension on and therefore added four extra windows.....
My cousin gesticulates wildly when she talks, so she kept waving her arm towards the window where this guy was squeegeeing the supposed dirt and grime of what turned out to be 6 weeks accumulation. So he must have known he was being talked about. I kept watching his smooth sweeps of the squeegee (I like that word, sounds so silly and fun to say) as she prattled on, feeling rather, erm, exposed, sitting there in full view, in my pyjamas.
So, what does one do when the window cleaner comes by? I don't get to experience that much. Actually, not at all. Because in my world, it is me who is the designated window cleaner and I don't dedicate myself to that task very often. But really, isn't it a little weird having someone come by at irregular intervals who can see into your daily activities as you watch tv, eat dinner, dust, play the piano...
Then again, isn't it nice to be able to see into the outside world as the birds fly about, the clouds move, the sun shines, the mail carrier comes with another postcard from Finland.
Gotta go, more sprung cleaning to do!
Spring is sprung
the grass is ris
my how noisy
the birdies is
but first some entertainment by George Formby