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knights of old with chain-mail gauntlets, we are clothed in bright yellow gloves.
No jousting lance to fight off the darstedly blots from the pristine installations
of the UK sanitary system, but with a nylon brush, a pink sponge and a trusty
bottle of Zif, we have conquered the foe with a vengeance. Since the maintenance department has been offering a Colonic Irrigation Service to the Cluny populace with flushing success, our job has advanced in leaps and bounds. (The Park residents have yet to experience the full enjoyment of reverse dental hygiene). We start each training session with a rousing minute’s silence and then proudly don our team’s time-honoured symbol of a butterfly. After some tactical game-planning and with a mild blood-curdling war cry, we charge into our day’s challenges only to regroup at break for some morale-boosting beverages and cream cake — should we be so fortunate enough to have one of the homecare lassies married off the day before. Pumped full of good Scottish clotted cream (say that ten times fast!!) we charge up the hill towards lunch and a warm-down period of confessions where we all report just how bloody the  morning’s
battle has been. We all then join in a communal huff and
puff leaving the candle smoking and the rest of us wheezing.Afternoons are most often spent in the dungeon, with the sound of steel monsters whirring and swirling as we practise origami with flat and fitted sheets. More Zen-like moments. After another swill of Indian herbs, it’s a swift shift until dinner with a rare opportunity to share the day’s accomplishments. So when you next ponder your plight on the porcelain pedestal or slip sleepily between silken sheets, spare a  thought
for Department
‘H’. Those tireless troubadours of toilet tissue and
tumbledryers, those custodians of Cashmere Bouquet and cotton
covers, those Princesses and Princes of pans and the Zen Mistresses and Masters
of the Magic Zif! | ||
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