On Wednesdays and Thursdays, I clean houses on the lower section of Wenceslas Avenue- 190-220 on the right, 191-222 on the left.  And that means that I get to go into people’s houses while they’re away and see what strange things they keep in there.

Here are a few of them.

Number 191- the one that looks like a doll’s house

And I’m not talking about a classy Victorian doll’s house with delicately carved furnishings.  I’m talking Barbie, Polly Pocket, fluorescent pink vinyl, holographic designs all over the kitchen, every other surface covered in cushiony velvet.  Everything is candy-coloured, even things like the fridge and the oven.  There’s a sweet fruity smell wafting through the rooms.  There are little paintings of hearts or stars in some of the corners.

Unfortunately, it’s also like a kid’s toy in another way- after you’ve played with it too many times, it gets all faded and scuffed.  There are scratches on the holographic surfaces and tears in the velvet.  There are chips in the walls and stains that never quite come out.  Everything near the windows is about three shades paler than the things around it.  Honestly, it’s kind of sad.  They say nothing gold can stay, and I guess nothing fluorescent pink can, either.

Number 210- the one with all the taxidermy

To be fair, there’s only three taxidermy things (the ferret on the mantelpiece, the owl in the hallway, and the cross-eyed fox in the dining room), but honestly I think just one would have been enough.  They sit about, gathering dust (til I get there), glassily watching the world go by.  At least the clowns across the road get rearranged now and then.

Most of the rest of the rooms are full of leather-upholstered furniture, all ancient and cracking.  It’s a good thing you never hear about animals becoming poltergeists, because if they did, you’d have the ghosts of about twelve cows and half the cast of The Gruffalo coming by every night to smash up the place.

Number 200- the one with the doting parents

The son of the couple who live here is called Thomas.  I know this because the whole house is a damn shrine to him.

School pictures.  Certificates.  Trophies, both sporting and academic.  I’m guessing that Thomas is an only child, because if there were any siblings who had to live with so many constant reminders of his brilliance, they’d have assassinated him long ago.

Meanwhile, upstairs, there is a bedroom full of school supplies, computer games, and movie posters; and that particular room always has at least three full cans of Carlsberg hidden under the bed.  I’m not planning to tell his parents.  Thomas has a stressful life.

On Wednesdays and Thursdays, I clean houses on the lower section of Wenceslas Avenue- 190-220 on the right, 191-221 on the left.  And that means that I get to go into people’s houses while they’re away and see what strange things they keep in there.

Here are two of them.

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Number 192- The one with the stop-motion pornographer

The sad thing is, this is one of the more normal ones.

Besides the wheelchair ramp and the stairlift, it’s a whole lot of MDF.  It looked like it was furnished by someone who really hates shopping, like they agreed to spend an hour in Ikea grabbing the first things they could get their hands on just so they’d never have to go again.  It smells nice, anyway.  There’s an airy, appley scent wafting through the hallways when you come in.  That’s definitely better than a pile of clowns.

There are four people living there, but three of them I’ve only met in passing.  The one I’ve really got to know is a guy a couple of years younger than me, who works from home and calls out, “Hi, Chris!” from his office when I come in.  (For the record, I did not at any point tell him to call me Chris.  That was all him.)  I’ve never seen him outside his office, but I don’t know if that’s because he’s working hard or if he’s just too polite to use more than one room while I’m cleaning.

I knew he made films from subtle clues like all the cameras and lighting in the office, but he’s usually packed the actual stuff he’s filming away by the time I go in to clean in there.  One day, though, I saw some little clay models in a forest set (green tablecloth, trees made out of twigs), and I asked him if he’d made them himself.  He said yes, and seemed a bit embarrassed.  They were four-inch-high werewolf-y looking things, very detailed for something that size.  He’d given them lines on their hands and crow’s feet around their eyes,.  I didn’t lay it on too thick, because he was clearly a bit self-conscious about it, but I made it clear I was impressed.  And I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of films he made with them.

That evening after work, I looked him up and found his website.  And… well, you saw the title I gave this section, right?

Ever since then, I’ve wondered what percentage of the household income is his.  There can’t be that many people who are into watching claymation werewolves getting it on, but I bet the ones who are will pay through the nose for it.  It’s like when I worked at the Compass and I got paid extra for being the first one into the men’s toilets after closing on Saturday nights.  We all have our niche.

Number 199- The really filthy one

I think these people decided that, since a cleaning service was included in the rent, they’d take full advantage of it by merrily rolling around in filth the rest of the week.  I honestly almost admire them for that.

There’s been mould on the towels.  There’s been chewing gum on the surfaces.  There’s been pasta sauce splattered up the walls (even on the ceiling, a couple of times).  There’s been food trodden into the carpets, and dropped clothes trodden into the food.  There’s been unholy cocktails of bodily fluids in the beds and on the sofas.  There’s been stuff in the toilet bowl that isn’t meant to be, and stuff that is meant to be left all around the bathroom.  There’s also a serious mouse problem, but luckily I’m a cleaner, not an exterminator, so I don’t have to do anything about it.  In fact, I’ve been building them an obstacle course out of random objects in the kitchen.  I might ask the guy from number 192 to help me make them some furniture.

(I might turn this into a series. We’ll see.)

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On Wednesdays and Thursdays, I clean houses on the lower section of Wenceslas Avenue- 190-220 on the right, 191-221 on the left.  And that means that I get to go into people’s houses while they’re away and see what strange things they keep in there.

Here’s one of them.

Number 209- The one with all the clowns

I know a lot of people are scared of clowns, but I mainly just find them untrustworthy.  Especially when they’re used as children’s toys- no matter how much effort the manufacturers put into making them seem cute and lovable, you can tell that under the makeup they’re middle-aged blokes with male-pattern baldness.  Normally you’d scream the house down if you found one of those in your children’s bedroom.  That shouldn’t change just because of some greasepaint and a red nose.

Anyway, the people in this house have a big pile of toy clowns on an ottoman in the hallway.  There’s china Pierrot dolls, plastic ones with plastic red hair, and knitted ones with plus signs for eyes, all arranged with the biggest ones at the back as if they’re posing for a photo.  The whole thing is just unseemly.

There’s some other odd decorating choices elsewhere in the house, but none of them are as disturbing as opening the front door to see a few dozen clowns staring at you.  There’s a big golden tree on the landing, with golden leaves and golden berries on the branches, that may or may not be made out of plastic.  There’s a statue of a rearing horse in the bathroom, luckily not actual size (unless it’s meant to be a very skinny Shetland pony), and luckily facing away from the toilet.  Over Christmas, they had an entire miniature Charles Dickens village on the table in the living room, which I really liked, but a couple of times I found used coasters next to it, which suggested that they were still using it as a table even though it was 90 percent covered.  All I could think about was how guilty they’d feel if they knocked a mug over and drowned all the delightful ice-skating urchins in PG Tips.  Some things just don’t bear thinking about.