Right, I said, fixing Madame Thumb with a firm look. Time to stop lounging on your Louis XVI (I think…) daybed, threatening to show people your scar, and get to work.
Whaddyamean, you can’t?!
Rubbish, of course you can. This way.
She was not best pleased. By the time she’d sorted, packed, cleaned, carried boxes up and down stairs etc she was getting thoroughly fed up.
Oooooooooh yes. She’s been spoilt. Back to work and not a moment too soon.
And of course then she was whingeing that her red dress was ruined … and I unkindly told her that it was tatty enough to be the red cap of a French Revolutionary.
Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig mistake. I was then treated to a medley from Les Miserables, sung off-key
I made her do the ironing, in revenge…
… oh great. Now it’s a cracked version of the Marseillaise …
I know what to do about that
Peace at last …