Domesticity 3

Today, I cleaned the kitchen windows.

This involved climbing up on the kitchen sink, to attack the inside, and going up a ladder to approach the outside.  On the left (looking out) is a triple-deck hopper window (the top level is fixed); on the right is a large fixed window, presumably inserted some time in the 1960s or 70s given that the opposite and matching house (we are in a series of c 1920 semis) lacks such a window.  This has a crack in it which must be treated cautiously.

I don’t do this often.  There was a terrible black grime on the inside windows – probably the deposit from over-enthusiastic use of the stove-top griddle iron, but possibly going back to the great stove-top-fire disaster of 06.  The outside windows mostly yielded dust deposited by the rain.

I have no idea what is a “normal” frequency for cleaning windows, but I am sure that they were cleaned more frequently in the house I grew up in.  Not that I ever recall being asked to do this.  My first memory of cleaning windows (apart from car windows)  is when, in about third form, on being sent to a Blind Society home on Burwood Rd for “community service” (which took place in the week when cadets went to their annual camp), I was given some newspaper and a bucket of water and told to clean the windows, including in various obscure outbuildings where even the seeing, let alone the blind, must have rarely strayed.  It was only later that the extreme oddity of this task occurred to me.

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