I've never claimed to be a Domestic Goddess. Mainly because it would be laughable.
I keep everyone in clean clothes (just about), I feed everyone, I remember all the random things my children need to take into school (so far this term one of them has needed kitchen roll, empty crisp packets and a pair of tights). Every so often I rouse myself to a particular domestic flourish, usually for the children - an otter shaped birthday cake, dinosaurs hidden in jelly...
But we do not live in a Nigella type world where the house is immaculate yet welcoming, the kitchen always smells of something delightful baking, and I always look alluring.
I am, however, developing a suspicion that it is time to raise my game a little bit.
I confessed to a friend recently to using a baby wipe to clean the sink when visitors were about to descend and it needed a bit of a sparkle. The baby wipe was to hand, it cleans and it smells nice, so fitted the bill nicely. Foolishly I couldn't resist adding "I don't know why I don't use baby wipes to clean the whole house". Now, my friend tells me, whenever she uses a baby wipe (actually for wiping her baby's bottom as she's a more sensible soul), she thinks of me cleaning with them.
Oh well, I thought, at least she thinks I'm cleaning!
Now these happen to be the same friends that we often used to meet up with of an evening for a chinese meal, courtesy of the local takeaway restaurant. The idea behind this was that we were all busy people and this way we got to see each other without anyone needing to have the time or stress of planning a proper dinner.
Then, a few days ago I got a text saying "thinking of you, as we're having a takeaway".
I then realised that, at least as far as this friend goes, my domestic image consists of baby-wipe cleaning and ordering takeaways. Great!
Obviously when I am a famous novelist it will be perfectly acceptable for me and my family to live in eccentric chaos whilst I type away on my latest great work amidst the muddled piles of interesting and inspiring artefacts around me.
For now, however, since my children are both at school, my only excuse for lack of housework is...well, me.
So I'm off to find my mop and duster. I may never make it to Domestic Goddess, but I might just get promoted from Domestic Devil to Domestic Mortal.