"Oh, in my profession I'll work hard
But I'll never stop
I'll climb this blinkin' ladder
Till I get right to the top.
When I'm cleaning windows..."
I couldn't get this song off my mind today. My mam would sing it as she went about her daily duties. Sometimes, she would even whistle the tune (and I'd try and copy her). We had the song on a scratchy LP record, too. I never knew each verse; just the chorus.
And cleaning windows was my profession today. Not actually cleaning the glass, but rather - applying paint stripper (professional brand. Nasty, burny stuff), leaving it on for ten minutes until the paint bubbles, then scraping it off with my trusty 38mm AND 50mm paint scrapers. Man, those scrapers are handy tools. So multifunctional!
Tomorrow, I get to use POWER TOOLS. The sanding machine, in fact - to smooth off any excess glossy paint.
I won't be able to use the power tools tomorrow, for the Grands are coming over. The Machinist phoned them yesterday and invited them for Sunday roast. I get to resume my domestic duties instead.
While I was singing my rendition of "When I'm Cleaning Windows", mixed with sudden outbursts of "Play that Funky Music, White Boy" and pondering why I put the two together in the first place, the Machinist was right next door, in the laundry room, fitting the back door and window. Definitely not the vocal malingering type, he, too, belted out his own version of the White Boy song.
I don't think the Machinist knows the Windows song at all. If he does, he didn't let on. If the neighbours who live over the hill at the rear of the Grand's Cottage didn't know either song, quite well before, they will now....