I'M EVERY WOMAN, it's all in me...

Hooray! It's the international day of love. I write this at 6am. Not because I am sitting by the front door waiting for a dozen red roses to arrive, but because I am about to go upstairs and clean vomit splats from all along the hallway. My seven year old boy was sick all night and I know that when daylight comes, I'll have at least two hours of intense carpet cleaning ahead of me.

It may be Valentine's Day but the kids are off school for the week and life just doesn't grind to a halt on the 14th February. But as a tribute to the soul star who died this week, and to inject a bit of 'luuurve' into the day, I have compiled the top five 'Whitney Houston Songs to Get Household Jobs Done By'. I have put down exactly what I shall be doing for each song but obviously, adapt each song to suit whatever housework you have to face this morning. Pump up the volume and feel free to join me in my tribute to the legend who has been a constant companion in aerobics classes for women around the world for the last 20 years. 

I'M EVERY WOMAN 

This is the tune I shall be listening to very shortly, on my Ipod (mustn't wake whole house), as I tackle the vomity soaked carpet. With mop, bucket, disinfectant, rubber gloves and air freshener, this track has the energy to keep me going as I tackle every mother's worse nightmare. Yuk, Yuk, treble yuk....

IT'S NOT RIGHT BUT IT'S OK

At number 2, It's Not Right But It's OK. This could have been written for the inside of my fridge, which some might call 'A disgrace'. The song is methodical, calm and repetitive, just what's required for dreaded household chore number two this morning.  After the carpet, I have to throw out the stale milk, yogurts, leftovers and clean out the compost heap (otherwise known as the vegetable drawer in my fridge). Surely there is no better day to feel the love for my refrigerator.

SO EMOTIONAL

This will be playing very loudly as I enter my teenagers cave and attempt to get her to sort out her bathroom later this morning. This week she has been experimenting with every Irish teenagers 'must have', fake tan (in orange). This has to stop. She may become a fake tan junkie.  I don't even know who her supplier is. She came out of her room last night glowing a mucky yellowy red colour. This wouldn't bother me one bit if she took up ballroom dancing. Instead she listens to Jedward all day in her tracksuit. We've not even seen the sun in Ireland for 6 months....HELP!

I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU

 Our rabbit died last week and now, I am faced with the horrible, horrible task of phoning up the vet and getting the results of the post-mortem. As I do so, this shall play in the background. It sums up perfectly, the way I feel. Like poor Whitney's family, I only hope that she died suddenly and without pain. Unlike Whitney's family, I was at least there to feed her a last nibble of apple shortly before she passed. RIP 'Pickles' - we will always love you. 

I'M YOUR BABY TONIGHT

Yes, we are going out, we've an Early Bird meal booked in the Brown Bear in a village nearby called Two Mile House. I shall put this song on and first sweep, then mop the entire house before we leave. I may even attempt that thing that cleaning obsessives do and mop my way out of the house, leaving the mop at the door just before I lock it. I can pick it up when we get home and mop my way from the front door to the bedroom. Who says that art of romance is dead?

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

My name is Annie, and I am an addict.

I am an addict. I am addicted to the fluffy stuff. For twenty years, twice a week, I have carried huge 10kg bags of potatoes from the supermarket, into the car and then through the house to the kitchen. Then I have spent a good ten minutes every day peeling/scrubbing them, another fifteen minutes standing over them as they boil and another five mashing them. That's a whopping total of 30 minutes four days a week for twenty years devoted to the art of Mashed Potato. I loved it. That was until I did the maths and worked out that when all those minutes are added together, I have spent 86 day and nights of my life, preparing and mashing potato. That's ridiculous.

If I only I had those 86 days back again, goodness knows what I'd do, the possibilities are endless. I might travel across America on a Greyhound bus or get learn how to ride a unicycle and take myself around Europe on it. I might take up synchronised swimming or learn how to speak Japanese. I could walk the entire length and breadth of Iceland or  take up the ancient art of falconry, lace making or clog dancing. Fellow potato lovers around the world will have to agree, this mashing potato madness has to stop.

WARNING!

Before I go on, a word of caution to any purists reading. You may find the following upsetting. You may find yourself feeling light headed, dizzy, angry or nauseous. Don't panic, lie down and put your feet up, your reaction to what you are about to read is perfectly normal.

A chance TV encounter with the legendary Delia Smith changed everything.  When having made a fish pie filling, she reached into the freezer and pulled out a bag of (wait for it.....) FROZEN mashed potato.  She simply snipped open the packet, plonked the entire contents over her fish pie base and saved thirty minutes of labour. She fed it to the TV presenter beside her, "Mmmm"s and "WOW!"s filled the studio. 

Like the invention of the wheel, the lighbulb or the telephone, there are people who will consider frozen mashed potato as the work of the devil. It may even be considered sinful. But I've no time for food snobbery and here's the thing; in the six months that I have been using my Fluffy Frozen Mash, not one person around my table has complained. In fact, just the opposite. They love the lump free, creamy, soothing mash that was not only effortless to prepare (unless you consider opening the freezer door a chore) but tastes as good as home made. Not only that, but my arms and legs are getting a break too as one bag feeds the entire family and is a fraction of he weight of a bag of King Edwards with no waste.

I am addicted. This wonderful stuff has been a lifesaver in the freezer. It goes on everything; Shepherd's Pie, Cottage Pie, as a filler in Pasties, as a thickener in soups and it goes without saying, with sausages and gravy. Frozen mash has one more serious advantage, it is essential in emergency situations. The bag has come out of the freezer many times to relieve the pain of sprained ankles and bruised heads. It is the perfect size. I cannot recall how many hours I have spent with a bag of frozen fluffy mashed potato on my head, in a quiet dimply lit room. There is no better relief for a migraine. Say what you like about the frozen white stuff but you cannot do that with a 10kg bag of Jersey Royals. 

Of course, the issue that many (women in particular), is coping with the guilt. The guilt of knowing that you didn't spend hours carrying, peeling, boiling and mashing the spuds. This is the burden that I carried for the first few months, like lead upon my shoulders. Then, as if by magic, the guilt left. All because I managed to convince a woman in her seventies to try it. This woman, a fellow mash devotee, had spent 50 years mashing potatoes. But a few weeks later, I discovered that she too had come over to the other side, "I wish that I'd discovered it years ago" she said when I bumped into her in the supermarket with five packs in her trolley. She'd cleared the shelf.

And finally, before I go and serve up my stew and mash this evening, the snow over in the UK hasn't excited my 7 year old boy one bit. He has no interest in making snowmen this year. Much better than snow, it turns out that the small frozen mashed potato logs are great for making little igloos for Lego people. 

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