Cinderella

I now know how Cinderella felt when she was scrubbing those floors and her fat, ugly sisters were preening themselves - thinking they were sooo important. Okay. It's a folk story. And yes, I'm a bit older than she was -- all right, a fair bit older, but I do have nicer shoes! The point is, she might not be real, but her story - being down-trodden and disregarded - mirrors life for a lot of people. And last Monday, it was me.

I had to clean a holiday home. I usually do this for the owners every month and they are never there. But on Monday they were, because they were having their yearly visit to their des res in the country. So I appeared, all jolly and nice - because, to be fair, they are usually quite nice to me. Although we generally only communicate via email.

'What would you like me to do?' I asked (will I ever learn NOT to say that???)

'The floor.'

'What floor?'

'This floor.'

You mean. This crappy, old quarry tiled floor with the patches of concrete where the tiles are missing - floor. The floor you insist on keeping, even though you've modernised this entire 15th century cottage, because for some reason you think it's "authentic" and, by the way, I'll eat my apron if it dates back to the 15th century. (All right. I didn't say any of that!)

'I always wash it,' I said defensively. 'It just never looks any better.'

'Ah! But do you SCRUB it?'

And with that last sweeping question I was presented with a scrubbing brush. Nothing to kneel on. Just me, my bucket, brush and a vast, crappy, old quarry-tiled floor. And while I scrubbed, the lady of the house sat in her laminated-floored lounge while her husband did something everso important on his laptop. I even had to scrub around his feet - would you believe???

With my heart and dignity on the floor I scrubbed for two hours. Realising that as nice as I thought they were, they were putting me in my place. (Don't you forget, you cleaner woman, we are terribly posh, clever people who talk like the Queen and you are here to do our bidding.)

'I've done,' I said. 'I told you it wouldn't look any different.'

'Well. At least I know it's clean,' the lady said. 'Have you time to clean all the windows?'

She must have read my mind because she took one look at the scrubbing brush in my hand and rather nervously said. 'Oh. Perhaps next time, then.'