The pungent stench of decomposed death

So I came down from my shower this morning and the kitchen was smelling of death. In fact, the kitchen was smelling of the bit in between the toes after a week of decomposition of death. No, in fact it was smelling like that bit in between decomposed toes and also behind the unwashed ears of three weeks of decomposed death. And I know that's not properly formed or anywhere near nicely flowing English, but that is what it was like and there are no nice words for it. If the words were nice, they wouldn't be conveying that stench properly.

So after I came down and realised there was this godawful evil sickness bearing pungency, what did I do? I opened the window and sat down to make the kids their packed lunches. I left Babes to find and remove the stench of what must have been three diseased storks who got lost on my kitchen surface on their way to their summer pastures, having laid rotten eggs and then vomited, crapped, and died. No way in hell was I going anywhere near there. Did you see that picture this week of that decomposing horse in a deserted Lybian army barracks? All I can say is the rebels were lucky that horse was in a courtyard - outside - and not in my kitchen.

Of course it was entirely my fault that the kitchen smelled like that in the first place. I made a delicious carbonara on Tuesday (with pecorino and spinach), but did I throw out the remains? No, my darling people, I did not. I also tidied the bathroom and the children's rooms a little on that day, but have I sinced washed the laundry I removed from there? No, people, I have not. It is all piled up in three different places. And you should see my garden...

So what have I been doing? I have been at the hospital, visiting my achingly beautiful newly arrived goddaughter at every possible opportunity. I have been gallivanting all over town, going to book clubs and coffee mornings and gossipy lunches and dates with my husband. I have been napping in the morning to catch up on sleep and crafting home made birthday invitations with Jack. I have been teaching Charlie to high five and I have been cuddling in the sofa with Marie.

All of these I consider more important things than cleaning. All of them get given priority over housework any day of the week. Only I should remember that perhaps it may be clever to do some minor disaster containment before, in between and after all the gallivanting and child-loving. Just occasionally. If I don't want to be retching over packed lunches first thing in the morning again.