Quiet house

It's remarkably silent in my house. No sound but the humming of the hard drive and me masticating my way through a plate of carrots and celery.  Yum! 

I'm lying.  But by the time I've finished,  I'm so sick of chewing that my appetite is satisfied.

My cleaner, Annie, comes on a Tuesday. I know, very self-indulgent and lazy of me, but I work hard for my money.

Different today from other Tuesdays though.  Today, I appreciated it more. The swept front veranda, opening the front door to be greeted by the tang of Exit Mould, or whatever bleach based substance Annie uses in my bathroom.  Better than perfume as far as I'm concerned.  The fragrance of hygienically clean. 

Swanned, queen-like - that's if you can imagine a queen wearing a cycle helmet and cycle clips - through to the kitchen.   Did a royal inspection and liked what I saw.

No dirty Milo cup and spoon in the sink; no crumbs on the chopping board.  All surfaces gleaming.  Cushions arranged just so on the couches.  Books, magazines and miscellanea all perfectly aligned.  Just as Annie left it.  Think Annie's even polished the apples in the fruit bowl.  (She's probably happy that there's one less person to clean up after.)

What's more, no techno drum and bass music blasting from Pete's room.  Did I mention he's a DJ as well as a graphic designer?  Yes, I'm really going to miss that.

You know, I think I might even enjoy this 'third age'.