Shannon Lush, judging by her book sales, has very good tips on cleaning. Using nothing but a blend of white spirits and black magic, she tells you how to get blood out of stone, donkey entrails out of a donkey and a gay midget out of a cupboard. She throws in advice on getting red wine out of mum and dad’s shag-pile carpet as well.
Shannon Lush sets a bad example, though. It’s too much pressure for normal folk. She thinks that all things should be hospital white; that you should be a best-selling author simply for shits and giggles; and she also happens to be as nutty as a snickers bar hidden in a man-squirrel’s underwear.
Today, I accidentally hit on the antidote to Shannon.
Get home late.
If you get home after the sun has gone down, you just can’t see most of that crap. I had to work from home today… and I literally saw the place in a (new) light. No good.
My first reaction was to go into a Lush-like frenzy - followed a nano-second later by the realisation that that shit had always been there and the answer was not to fix it, but get home in the dark and ignore it.
Fuck off, Shannon Lush. If it’s that bad, I’ll buy a new one.
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