Lay-Offs Strike Monculi

The gold factories are beginning to lay-off workers. Half the village is sitting about at home irritating their wives and fidgeting about. The wives have cleaned everything inside and out and are now eyeing my establishment - long regarded as a centre of casual dusting and too much laughing going on.

There have been phone calls about the need for domestic staff. I do not want domestic staff. They bully me and make me clear out cupboards that are full of the past laid to quiet rest. They polish clock faces and ruin them. They make me look through piles of papers that have grown on handy surfaces and put them away or throw them away. They tell me terrible stories of the past, right back to the beginning of time. They are very kind to me because I am not Italian (though it isn't my fault and isn't as bad as being extra-comunitare). They wonder what I need all these books for.

They talk among themselves about cooking with butter and eating brussels sprouts, not to speak of Mr HG not having his socks switched to mezza stagione on 1 March. Or getting his own lunch (I cook the dinner, but we can't eat three courses twice a day).

They are out there while I polish and arrange and sweep stony stairs to deny them access. This recession has got to end or I will be taken over and italicised