Up a ladder at the front of
the house, bucket and leather in hand, I was not surprised to be addressed as
George Formby by the next door neighbour, but with nothing noteworthy for me to
peep at inside the house my mind instead wandered free and alighted on a couple
of thoughts: first, my wife’s complaint that I do not clean the toilets fails
to take account that quite a lot of what I was washing off the glass and white UVPC
frames is actually fly faeces; second, my removal from every corner of every
window of woolly chrysalis matter, at this time of year, could severely affect
the moth population next spring.
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