A clean house is a sign of a wasted life...

Good evening chaps and chapettes. More specifically and accurately, good evening Caro.

I am currently doing what you may be wish to refer to as a life experiment, possibly you could even go so far as to describe it as a social experiment. Kind of a very bad 'Big Brother', but with more intelligent housemates going in, who are better potty trained.

Four weeks ago, I gave up my lovely little house in Hertfordshire, one of a row of four little white houses that overlooked the River Lea and duck families, season dependent.

I gave away a lot of my things, and basically travelled with my clothes (a carrier bag of tops and jeans, one of pants and socks, and one of shoes), the Midget's things (substantially more than mine) and their beds and bedding, lumbering my way to Wandsworth for 'a new start'.

I settled firstly with Midget 2's great grandparents, and had an utter blast. They were funny, smart, excellent to hang around with and I started to think that maybe I was missing out on living with other grown ups. Not so now.

After a week, I moved on to Midget 2's paternal grandparents. "It won't be so bad" thought I. Idiot Wiltshire.

I think it is fair to comment on myself that I am pretty irritatingly optimistic. I can generally see the good in most situations. This is not the case here.

Since I have been here, I have been verbally flagellated by the vile example of womanhood that apparently passes for a human being, aka Midget 2's grandma. Never have I had so much aggressive noise directed at myself by one so inarticulate, ignorant, and devoid of any sense whatsoever of what makes the world work. Always in front of the Midgets. Which doesn't go down too well.

I have been told that I do not clean enough (whilst it's true I'm dirty, I'm not that kind of dirty. If I'm going down on my hands and knees it's going to be to suck cock not clean a fucking floor, ok?). I am 'disorganised' - I should be ironing shirts for everyone (surely there can't be anyone who doesn't know that Wiltshire doesn't do ironing?), because I cook dinner so that the Midgets can eat at 5.30 (we are one of those odd families where everyone eats the same thing) I am awful as Midget 2's father doesn't get a hot meal (he arrives back at 6pm). I am a terrible parent for reasons so varied, and frankly vapid, that I do not have the energy to list them here.

I have been told that I should not expect Midget 2's father to contribute in any way whatsoever to childcare as he is at work. 'The old ways are the best' apparently. Er - said who? This is from the woman whose father had three different families and did nothing at all at home - he had 32 children in total. Yes, count 'em. She runs her own husband into the ground, yet her boy should do nothing.

In defence of Midget 2's Dad, he thinks his mother is ludicrous and embarrassing. However, this doesn't actually help anyone. Midget 1 is treated incredibly badly by her (not so by Midget 2's dad I hasten to add). I would quite like to rip out her eyes and urinate in the ocular cavities, but so far I have resisted. So far.

After weeks of silence on my part, I stood up to her on Friday and told her that she shouldn't be talking like this in front of the Midgets. That if she had something to say she should call us both in and talk to us. How would she appreciate it if her child's grandparent constantly interfered? She told me to grow up. I advised her she should consider doing the same thing.

The upshot - Midget 2's father and I have now officially split. I won't be party to making someone choose a side, so I'd rather bow out completely. As I get older, I want to have the grace and dignity I have previously lacked, to show The Midgets how it is done.

I now need to find accommodation. I have nothing as I gave it all away. I do not have a proper job, and if I can't afford rent I can't afford Internet, so my consultancy plans are halted. I am pissing my pants. Let's say I am not a happy bunny.

It must be said that her parting shot was quite amusing - that I do not live up to the 'high standards' that she has in her house.

I must agree that I don't. You see, Quentin Crisp and my own great grandad both shared the view that it'll never get thicker than a quarter of an inch (the dust that is). You know - I do clean, but, and heaven forgive me - my job is looking after the Midgets now I am no longer at work. Do you think the Midgets will reflect about how Mummy didn't clean enough when they were nippers, or how she was too busy sloshing anti bacterial liquid everywhere to take notice and have a jelly fight with them?

Nope, I am of very low standards. I freely admit this. Having said that, when I am pensionable with my tartan blanket and pack of bourbon creams with a pot of tea, I'm pretty sure my low standards will keep me company as obviously they'll hang out with anyone. I can sit about (hopefully) with one of the Midget's and their family, telling dirty jokes, being a bit rude and smelly, but otherwise being really jolly happy.

Which sounds a an awful lot better than sitting in a pool of my own urine in a nursing home, with only my high standards for company. A clean house etc...