It was 1987 and we had arrived in sunny Kuala Lumpur from rainy Holland. But it was not just the weather that was different. Living and working in an Asian city was massively different from the comfy familiarity of Europe. One of the biggest changes was that our house came equipped with a separate little housing area. Is that for when relatives come to stay? I enquired innocently. No, that’s for the maid.
The idea of having some sort of domestic help was completely alien to us. My wife was a competent home maker, and I was competent at knowing the limits of how much of a mess I could make before she complained about tidying it up. Neither of us liked the idea of a third party clumping around our living space and invading our privacy, and the concept of employing someone to clean up after us seemed contrary to our slightly socialist tendencies.
But employing a maid seemed to be expected of us, a way of contributing to the local economy; and this expectation was confirmed by the crowd of women that appeared at our front gate once the news leaked out that there was a new potential employer in town.
So, with considerable misgiving, we took the plunge. We eased our conscience by paying her much more than was necessary, and eased the level of intrusion by restricting her duties to weekday working hours. As a result, I rarely saw her; although I did hear her on occasions as she specialised in screaming loudly whenever a snake appeared in the garden. I think she expected a snake alarm bonus payment, and she may well have received one.
The maid employment responsibility continued as we moved to Sarawak and then to Brunei. The cycle of domestic assistance was only finally broken when I returned to The Hague some fifteen years ago. By this time I was a single man and had been grateful for the help I had been receiving in Brunei. I went to work in the morning and when I came home the house was clean, the washing basket was empty, and freshly ironed clothes awaited in the wardrobe. It was a kind of magic I was happy to pay for.
This magic failed to work in The Hague and I would come home in the evenings and spend an hour or so in the company of an ironing board, not always with acceptable results. I had a tiny apartment so the dusting duties were infrequent, and toilet cleaning was only undertaken when the porcelain looked in danger of being permanently stained; not that I ever looked. And it’s amazing how long you can go without changing bed sheets.
It was therefore a huge relief to return to Asia and find myself once more with domestic support, courtesy of Khun Su in Bangkok who would arrive every morning and ensure that I left my condo with a full complement of trousers, tie and briefcase; and then do clever things while I was away such that I returned to an oasis of cleanliness and calm which I could then mess up at my leisure. She was even unfazed by the occasional special friend that I left littering my bedroom when I departed in the morning, making sure that said friend was also cleaned up and ushered out of the building before yours truly returned in the evening. Good times.
Retiring to Pattaya and a new maid was acquired who has provided reasonable service for the last few years. She needs pointing in the right direction occasionally, and the level of breakages escalates on occasions; but she has valiantly battled the combined attempts of me, my wife, the cats and the ever intrusive Pattaya dust, to turn my condo into a tip. Most important of all, she is completely trustworthy.
So somewhat of a shock to our cosy little system when she announced she is leaving at the end of this month to run a business with her husband. Knowing her husband to be the idle layabout that he is, and the fact that she is paid more for a twenty hour week than most people receive for forty; I am not sure that this is a good career move. More importantly (for me), it means that the magic stops.
We don’t fancy embarking on the search for a new maid. She would have to be diligent, experienced, trustworthy and be either unattractive (she who must be obeyed’s requirement) or look good in a French maid’s outfit (my requirement). So we are heading for a maid free environment.
She who must be obeyed has announced that she will tackle the housework and my only role will be to do the washing up and take out the rubbish. Noble words, but my wife has a very busy working life and even a man of my limited conscience cannot allow her to take all that on. And if she has to come home from work and start ironing and scrubbing, when will she have time to cook my dinner?
So it appears that my life of extended idleness is coming to an end. Expect to see more photos of toilet bowls, pre and post cleaning. Expect to see little difference between the two.
Comments 🔗
2012-10-26| Spanky saysI would embark on finding a new maid. I have a friend who could have produced his mother-in-law, maybe mother-in-law, the old lady that his girlfriend/wife says is her mother to handle the cleaning chores as that is what she does. Sadly they convinced him to move to some village where they are from. It’s a tale that is a wee bit more exciting than this because we expect disaster at any moment but the old lady was a top notch cleaning woman. How this all relates I haven’t a clue. I just wanted to share.
2012-10-26| Grant saysWe haven’t a clue either young Spanky, not the foggiest, but thank you for sharing in such a caring and inclusive way. Roll out the photos of uncle Spike in the French Maid’s get-up, it’s the only solution!
2012-10-26| Robin Parmar saysOne little hint that might help: ironing is a scam. Stop doing it and nothing changes, except you get to enjoy life more. Any clothes that need ironing to exist are clothes I don’t buy. (Same with dry cleaning, actually.)
2012-10-26| biggrtiggr saysSpeaking personally, I require my y-fronts and socks to be starched and ironed to perfection………….. preferably whilst I’m wearing them……………. treat me rough, Miss Whiplash!!!
2012-10-26| Spanky saysI’m sure if Spike tried to drink with me just once I could arrange that. While not afraid of Spike I have a healthy respect of angry Thai women and I can’t see dropping spike off at his condo in a French Maids outfit going over well with SWMBO.
2012-10-27| Grant saysWell, there’s a challenge! I’ll volunteer to act as semi-sober moderator, just to see fair play of course…
2012-10-27| Grant saysRobin you are so right. Cotton clothing, eschew synthetics, bit of wool for the winter if you have one, perfect! My War Department, bless her, is a cheerfully compulsive ironer so I am well placed to regard the process as strictly a spectator sport, perfect!
2012-10-27| Grant says“I think there’s enough material here for a whole conference…”
2012-10-27| Spike saysBasil!!
2012-10-27| Grant saysWell done old chap! Take a bow! Don’t mention the war… I think I got away with it that time…
2012-10-27| Spike says“You’ll have to sew them back on first.”
OK, we can stop this now.
2012-10-27| Grant says“Right, well I’ll go and have a lie down then. No I won’t; I’ll go and hit some guests…”
2012-10-28| d saysBuy a dishwasher. I resisted what seemed like a waste of good camera money for years, but now that we have one, it’s impossible to understand how we ever managed without one. Well, actually “we” managed by letting my other half do most of the washing up. Not a recipe for domestic bliss.
And +1 for the avoid ironing. I ironed a shirt for the first time in a year yesterday for a wedding. Rest of the time I just hang my damp post maching washed clothes carefully on hangers and they’re crease-free enough to pass muster in most reasonable non-suit circumstances.