How Inviting Far Too Many Guests Is Very Good For the Home

It’s my MPhil weekend this weekend. It sounds quite intellectual doesn’t it? And it is, at times. Not all the time. We gather up at the Uni and discuss each others’ work without sounding too nasty, or too sycophantic, or too outright dumb (a particular habit of mine). Then, usually, some of us might have a meal together followed by a general dispersal to general hotels, hostels, and guest houses ready to convene the next morning. But this is Cardiff. Cardiff is a busy place. General hotels, hostels and guest houses are generally busy this weekend. So, being of a munificent and kind nature, and being that half of my family are away swanning around the upper reaches of the American continent, I invited people to stay here, at my house, chez moi. An indefinite and indefinable number of people. And these indefinite and indefinable number of fellow students have taken me up on my offer. Which is great. Looking forward to it (that wasn’t ironic).

I like having people to stay. The only problem is that my house is not so sure. In particular some particular rooms are not so sure. Rooms that are generally out of my ken. Rooms that these indefinite and indefinable number of people will have to sleep in. Rooms belonging to teenagers and middle-aged men. Rooms that haven’t been cleaned since the turn of the century.

I’m generally not a frightened or timid sort of person. Except in the presence of aliens, but neither my family or my fellow MPhillers are aliens, or at least not as far as I know. However these aforementioned portions of my house do scare me. Very much. I suspect there may well be alien life forms growing in these very rooms. Still, I have attempted to rise to the challenge.

I started with the man’s room. To give him credit, he thought that he had tidied it before he left. His thinking can be a little skewed at times. It took a LONG TIME to clean his room. But I think now it may be suitable for human habitation. Then it was time to tackle the teenager’s room. This is what happened –
room 5: Ceci 0.
Fuck this, I thought. I’ll sleep in here, keep the door very closed when people are around (it works for the teenager, it might work for me). It will be ok if I open the window and air it for the next four days, and when I have to go in I will keep my eyes mostly shut. I did however wash the sheets. There are limits. An added bonus was that I found half a bottle of Martini slipped down the side of the bed. I’m assuming she has left that there for me. Thanks.

The problem with cleaning, I find, is that once you start, you start to notice all kinds of things that are dirty. Like most things. Things that in the normal run of life seem normal. Things that, when you imagine people you don’t know quite as well as your family seeing look DISGUSTING. Strange things like banisters, ceilings, the interiors of kitchen drawers, the exterior of kitchen drawers, kitchens, rooms, houses. So, I have been cleaning. Like a weird obsessed person. As a weird obsessed person. My house is cleaner than it has been since a long time ago.

Now I have to rid myself of this cleaning bug or I will turn into one of those sad people who ask guests to take their shoes off before coming into the house, put them straight into a decontamination chamber and then make them wear white paper suits for the entire duration of the visit. You know the ones.

Should you be one of the hapless individuals coming to stay on Friday, yes, what you will see is the cleanest my house has been for a very long time. I know, it doesn’t say much for my normal state of things. But then, normal, well, at least I haven’t bought any white paper suits.