Well the radiator seems to have magically fixed itself – a relief I have to say and obviously one of those things like a stuck jar of jam when you struggle and struggle and then hand it to someone who pops the lid off in a nano second making you look like a seven stone weakling. My eye has been caught by a report that women feel guilty about the amount of housework they do and it would seem a high proportion of my gender are getting hung up about their obsessiveness. Some advice, just step away from the Domestos! I just don't get it. Cleaning is one of those things you have to do, unless you love filth and are aiming to be visited by those slightly scary women on Channel 4 who come in and tell you how many million bacteria you have in your carpet whilst miraculously cleaning the entire house top to bottom with a dash of vinegar and some fetching, flowery rubber gloves. You just get on with it. Having said that I'm planning a bit of a spring clean myself this weekend. My thinking is that I can't do anything about the outside of my house until I find a competent builder who doesn't want to recreate one of the wonders of the world in place of a common or garden wall. So I will turn my attention to the inside and wield my feather duster with gusto, get rid of that weird purple dust you get in London and at least pretend I'm not knocking thousands off the value of my house thanks to the fact that the front garden wants to be part of the street without any hindrance from walls or fences. What is it with that purple dust anyway? Do we have special purple people in London who shed skin to form clumps of multi-coloured furballs which setlle under your radiators and on top of the skirting boards? At the last look neither the beloved nor I are purple so I can only assume it's coming from the outside. It's one of those questions like why do you never see a baby pigeon? Anyway, I shall be arming myself with some appropriate cleaning products (none of this mix a bit of lemon juice with bicarb nonsense for me – I like products) and setting to like a whirling dervish. But, unlike my fellow females, I will not be getting hung up that it's some sort of guilty seceret to feel bad about. No. It's just cleaning. Get a sense of perspective.