Shopping

She’s my love, I love it when she sings.

When I sing she goes shopping.

Hoover

She’s a cleaner at the local branch of a nationwide estate agents. She’s seen countless staff come and go over the years and to her they are one mass of aftershave and perfume.

She brusquely dusts and mops, shoving feet out of the way with her hoover nozzle as she leans forward to pick up biscuit crumbs and crisps absentmindedly dropped, commenting on the weather or cost of living these days.

When they’ve gone home she makes a cuppa and rifles through their biscuit stash, dipping a handful of Shorties into her milky tea whilst watching TV in the staff area.

She knows she’s being filmed by the numerous CCTV cameras in the office and has a Devil-may-care attitude towards them, sprawling on the boss’s chair with her feet up on his desk, fantasising about zapping him up with her hoover. She takes great pleasure whenever one of his biros zips up the hoover tube or some lipstick accidentally dropped on the floor by Amanda or Claire finds its way into her hoover bag.

Not that she’s nasty in anyway, but everyone has to have some level of job satisfaction.