A night in the kitchen with ants May 10, 2012Posted by normanmonkey in Home, Single London.
Tags: Charles Saatchi, Damien Hirst
After a late-night slog in the office there’s nothing like the prospect of returning home to a house infested with flying ants to add cheer at the end of the day.
Where they have come from I know not, their timing seems to have come with another self-created shooting in the foot on the personal front, but I am presently sitting, swatting limply with a QPR programme, a man of a certain age reduced to being an extra in a bad Damien Hirst installation in his own designer kitchen. Give it five minutes and Charles Saatchi will be looking to exhibit me on the South Bank.
Wishful thinking. Whereas Hirst could command a cool million for this I can see that I’ll be forking out for fumigation tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it simply so I can stop being stuck in a fucking metaphor.
By sheer coincidence, through the haze of ants, I’ve just opened an email from my recently departed cleaner Pavlina (touchingly, her email address is ‘CleanhousePavlina’ so clearly this is not a woman who lives in fear of being typecast). She’s departed in the sense that she has hung up her marigolds and headed back to Bulgaria to be with family, was missing her favourite clients in England and wanted news.
I’m half-tempted to send her a picture of myself and the worktops she tended covered in insects and other ephemera to show her what has happened as a result of her own shameful self-indulgence.
This would be a diversion to avoid telling her about Aggy from Poland, her replacement. Not only was Aggy brought in within days of Pavlina’s departure, is a beast with the Dyson, but she also has the significant advantage in the cleaning trade of not being allergic to dust, which tragically played havoc with Pavlina’s skin (as a result she used to clean mostly the clean areas with admirable ferocity but there were parts of the house, namely those that actually needed cleaning, that simply couldn’t be breached). Bulgaria 0 Poland 1.
Perhaps it’s for the best I simply tell her all is well and send her a picture of me and the mop and be done with it. Who knows, maybe this was planned all along by Pavlina. Maybe her email is no coincidence, an attempt to undermine the stoic work of Aggy and get a recall to heroically repell the invaders, like Zhukov knocking back the Bosch at Moscow. Bulgaria 2 Poland 1 (AET). Clever.
As for the ants, I think I may take to them: they aren’t too demanding company, certainly more civilised than your average Chelsea fan, but I have noted that even they seem intent on getting out of the house rather than hanging around. They too have probably noticed the stark absence of food and wine. Frankly, wherever it is they think is the better option tonight, I think I may join them.