10/13/2020 0 Comments Flash LoveI love Flash With Bleach. It may give me a false sense of security, but whizzing around my kitchen cleaning surfaces, door handles and other things that are static and frequently touched, I can almost hear the germs running for their lives. "She's got Flash With Bleach," they scream. "Scatter!"
The kettle and fridge may be virus free (hopefully), but there are downsides to anything bleachy. Firstly, in a turning-into-my-mother moment, I realised that I had purple blotches on my pajamas where I'd accidentally bleached away patches of colour. Mum was always bleaching things then absent mindedly leaning over what she had cleaned, so she had a wardrobe full of blouses with a blob of discoloured fabric. She would never bleach in her nightware though, but I just can't make my breakfast without bleaching first. It's a sad sign of my times. Another consequence of the bleach is the fact that the numbers of the dials on my cooker appear to be fading. Part of me wonders if the disappearing numbers are just down to my equally fading eyesight. I will no doubt write about this another time, as there is much to say about my vision in low light and my failure to read any of the small print on packets. It's an aged cooker, but too useful to replace just because controls have been depleted of their numbers. I look forward to the random nature of heating food in the future. A lovely game of "Guess The Gasmark" will be coming soon to an oven near me, with pending rounds of "Incinerate Your Pizza!" and "Are You Sure Those Chips Aren't Still Frozen?"
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Kate Dowling
She's the Editor and now she's blogging. ArchivesCategories |