Do you remember the creepy film called “The Stepford Wives”, about a place where all the housewives love housework and cooking; and they wander around looking very beautiful in their strange frilly aprons; and they are crazy about their boring, plain husbands? Well, that’s me (not the last bit though – my Chris is very handsome and interesting), and it is not for the first time in my life, either.

Years ago, when I lived in Shailer Park (not far from here, actually – it must be something in the air), I used to get up at five in the morning, make breakfast and packed lunches, do the washing, hoover all the carpets, sweep and mop every tiled floor, clean the bathrooms, wash the dog (if he would let me) and bake cakes or pastries… all before nine o’clock every single day.

My sister Mary was so impressed with the Stepford wife Sally during her  stay with us that she resolved to do the same when she returned to England.

“I’m going to change my ways and become a Stepford wife, like Sally,” Mary announced to our father.

“I don’t know about Stepford, more like Steptoe”, quipped Dad, dryly. (He was alluding to “Steptoe and Son”, the sitcom about a father and son team of rag and bone men, whose house was chaotic.)

But that was many years ago. This morning I was going to take a cycle ride before beginning work on my current book when it occurred to me that perhaps I should hoover all the floors, mop all the mop-able floors, wash my sheets, clean the bathroom, disinfect every surface, remove every speck of dust, hoover the car, clean the car…  I worked like a slave – the house is quite large – and with an unusual obsessiveness that reminded me of the Shailer Park days. Everything had to be moved, every corner sucked – luckily there is an excellent hoover here (we don’t sweep tiled floors, we suck them) – it runs through the walls of the house! You simply pop the end of your nine-metre hose into one of the holes in the wall and, bingo! The suction is incredible – once or twice the hose became separated from the rod part and sucked me on the arm; I tell you, if I were as skinny as Mia farrow or Victoria Beckham I would have disappeared into the walls forever!

Shall I tell you about modern mops? In case you are old-fashioned, like I used to be, there is a new-age mop that is not made of string or sponge – it is a flat piece of plastic that breaks in the middle so one can fit a special towelling sleeve (dampened) over it, then you press it flat again and, bingo! You are ready to mop the whole house. I only had to wring it out twice, but then again, I didn’t really need to because the house was perfectly clean anyway.

After all my endeavours I had a nice games of darts by myself, before taking another shower and cleaning the bathroom again… You see I find that I have turned into a Stepford wife…