Quel Bordel

Yep, I'm cleaning house. The French have some great expressions, and one of my faves is "Quel bordel!": literally, "what a brothel!" and figuratively, "this place is one hell of a mess!" French houses of ill-repute: are they particularly untidy? I don't know anyone I could ask. But if a French person dropped by this place on most days, he or she would be thinking "QB" if not saying it out loud.

Anyway, what with the little sister arriving on Thursday for her first visit to the new nest, it's time to de-bordel it, so I'm shoveling paper and reorganizing clothes and alphabetizing the CDs (will she notice or care? unlikely) and breaking out the Mr. Clean. Tomorrow I lay in groceries and plan an agenda of Toronto activities.

(Now that I think about it, the British sometimes talk about "sluttish" or "slatternly" housekeeping... maybe it's a cross-cultural slur against the oldest profession.)

One lucky victim of the cleaning campaign: my Teva Durham polar vest. Here we see it post-Euculan bath and finally blocking on the ironing board. Not sure why it and the entire house look so yellow. I swear I'm going to get better with this camera. I loved knitting this vest, and I hope it looks reasonable on. The yarn is lovely, and in the yarn suitcase I have ten red balls of it (eBay impulse), so I'm on the hunt for something else to make out of it. Maybe a parka-style sweater with a zipper?

Right. Must get back to busting the bordel.