I knelt before the white porcelain - well, I say white but that isn't exactly true - my Marigold covered hands each held a Brillo pad and two thoughts flashed through my mind:
1. I should call David Cameron and insist that toilet cleaning is part of the national curriculum because I've faced enough feces-encrusted bogs to know that the great British public haven't a clue how to clean one or perhaps are too bone idle to try.
2. I am so much better than this.
This particular toilet was a lost cause. There was only one thing that would shift the decades old dung stuck to it -- a grenade.
I have a brain. I really do. And I'm on a mission. I'm going to hang up my marigolds. It may not happen overnight. But it's going to happen.
I shall start a stall. I said stall not stool. And I will sell things. Things I like. Things like Fair Trade recycled jewellery made by teenage mothers in Kenya. I will try and help myself while I help others. This is the beginning. Yes, I will fall on my face but in the end I will succeed and then the world will think we should have appreciated that domestic goddess while we had the chance.
Now who's going to clean up our ejectamenta!
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