WOMAN ON THE VERGE: I need a partner in ‘grime’ to indulge my hobby

It’s been a busy week spent mainly powerwashing – no the heat isn’t finally after getting to me – I think I’ve found my calling.  But lock up your driveways, sheds and children – nothing is safe from my obsession!

• I’VE been dying to treat myself to a particular item for a good while yet, and I finally decided that yes, I’m worth it, so I made the purchase, and I’m beside myself. So, no, it’s not a new handbag. I’m a bit funny like that … I get slightly strung out if I’ve too many bags, what with trying to rotate them, treat them all fairly, and give them all a day out etc. So, it’s not a bag. It’s not shoes, either. I was once a devil for buying new shoes, couldn’t get enough, but during lockdown I gave in to the Birkenstocks and that’s all I’m able for now. So, it’s not shoes either. It’s not … ok, I’ll just say what it is, for fear of losing my audience (anyone still there?) It’s a … nifty little power washer. I know! Fabulous!

• Admittedly my timing was a bit precarious what with Uisce Éireann’s (yes, that’s Irish Water in case you missed the rebrand too) water restrictions being introduced in some areas (not mine … yet), but the absolute joy this machine is bringing me is off the scale. I think it’s in my DNA. 

My dad was a dab hand at power washing. His timing was a bit off, too, now that I think about it, as he tended to go at it the day before a communion (sometimes even the morning of), or the night before a wedding. I remember my mother giving out about the windows. I totally get that now. But he was absolutely forensic about it and the results were epic. 

Some people think that it’s enough just to blast the place with water, but you have to really get stuck in with the brush to make a proper difference, and go next level.

My husband has banned me from going at the driveway in case I dislodge the tarmac with my enthusiasm (could I really?), and the dogs are literally running for cover when they see me coming, so I’ve been running out of things to clean. 

My brother recently got a crew in to clean the sheds and I was itching to ask them if I could help out. I just about managed to restrain myself … but I did study their technique from afar and picked up quite a few tips. It all comes down to the wrist action. 

• I got to indulge my love of hosing things down on a Tidy Towns clean-up the other night. On a recent Monday night myself and a few others donned our high-viz jackets and were dispatched to various approach roads to the village to scrub some road signs. 

Myself and my partners ‘in grime’ were given a busy stretch of road but it was worth risking life and limb (and a few nettle stings) for the sheer satisfaction of wiping clean a 60mph sign. 

Of course there’s nothing like a bit of volunteering to make you feel great about yourself too, making it a win-win situation. Anyway, if anyone wants the loan of a power washer you know where to come, and I’ll even let you borrow my waterproofs. 

• I read the other day that Fota Wildlife Park is turning 40. Hard to believe. The park opened to the public on June 23rd 1983 and will celebrate its milestone anniversary with a special programme of events, which I’m looking forward to. I always enjoy a visit to Fota I must admit. I’ve had countless memorable family trips there (a few more forgettable ones too!), and some great school tours as well. Speaking of which, this is the season for school tours. It’s great that there’s so much to see and do locally now. 

In my school days (when we walked barefoot through the fields), we had to go to such far flung attractions as the Ilac Centre in Dublin to get our kicks (and buy loads of tat, mainly Rick Astley posters); Mitchelstown Caves (probably wouldn’t get insurance for that now), the Rock of Cashel (its importance totally lost on us, what with being more interested in buying those toxic sticks of rock!), and once, strangely enough, Dunmanway swimming pool. 

Being from Timoleague, it did seem like a foreign land I suppose. God bless the teachers is all I say, and I don’t begrudge them the long holidays off for one single minute. Well maybe just for one single minute. 

We’re all exhausted at this time of the year, so I can’t imagine how they feel. As you might hear at an under-12 football match: ‘Ref, Blow it up!’ I’m joking … obviously. I think we should follow the UK school calendar, where the holidays don’t start until the end of July. Just throwing it out there. What do we think? Could we get it on an agenda for September? 

• Finally, I feel it’s my civic duty to share my experience of a home pedicure with you this week. If you’re a bit squeamish, read on. For sheer kicks I recently tried a pair of those foot peel booties which promise you feet smoother than a new-born. 

You simply put the plastic boots on, pour a gel into each one, sit back and wait for the magic to happen. 

Well for the first few days, nothing at all happened, then the peeling started. And it wouldn’t stop. My feet looked like I’d walked the Camino barefoot or done a few rounds on a pilgrimage at Lough Derg. I’ll admit that I wanted to get value from the experience so I might have left the boots on for a little longer than recommended (like a few hours longer) so some of this may have been my own fault, but it was a pity that my feet looking like I had leprosy, coincided with some of the hottest days of the year. I tried to stuff my afflicted ‘hooves’ into my Uggs but that was a suffering like no other. 

My husband and child said no one would notice, as they looked away and gagged (my husband also suggested I might see a doctor), while my nephew honestly said I was putting him off his ice cream. 

I considered getting the power hose to them but didn’t risk it. Moral of the story? Each to their own. Book the professional pedicure. Or at the least follow the instructions.