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The sun is streaming in through my windows, catching in the prisms dangling there, making rainbows dance around my home.  Sadly, that is not the only thing the sun brings to light. Dust and dirt that have been hidden through cloudy skies stands out. It’s time again to do the duster dance.

I hate cleaning, it always seems such a futile chore, but I hate the way it tickles my nose, activating my dust allergy even more. The runny redness may bring out the blue in my eyes, but add in loud sneezing and itchy skin and you have a walking disaster area. So, like it or not my day will be spent doing the mop merengue, scrubber samba and toilet tango.

Trying to make the best out of a bad situation I own cleaning utensils that cheer me up. The long fluffy duster that dutifully hangs waiting behind the door is bright red with lovely little images of green pears and flowers, lovely red hearts and cherries with tiny yellow blobs thrown in for good measure. My mop bucket is related to the duster and it shows in the decorations on the front, I even own brightly coloured scrubbing cloths and sponges.

Armed against the dirt I put on music, something I can sing along to and my feet often decided to dance, making me twirl, slide or even skip around the house while catching cob-webs and banishing dirt.

Once I’m done with stripping the beds and putting on a or three load, I’ll be able to have a steaming hot cuppa while I’ll admire the gleaming floors, the sparkling surfaces and the lingering smell of cleanliness. Sadly I know that once I walk across those floors it will be the first steps towards the nest day of the duster dance.