MOPPY MATTERS

About once a fortnight the buzzer rings and when I ask who it is, I hear ,"Quello che pulisce la scala, signora" [= "the one who cleans the stairs"]. I recognise his voice now so I buzz him in. What I want to know is how this gentleman, the "Speedy Gonzales of Modican marble" as I call him, does his job so quickly: there are 5 floors in the building, each separated by 2 flights of marble stairs, plus 2 flights of stairs leading down to the garages. He doesn't bring a machine of any sort, for I would hear it and I don't hear any swishing around either. This morning I timed him and after precisely 4 minutes I heard him shut the front door and leave. So what kind of mop has he got? I want one! I must find an excuse to hover on the landing during one of his visits and find out.

In Britain I used to have a "Vax" machine especially for cleaning and drying tiled floors and, although it was good for removing stubborn dirt, it was more trouble than it was worth to set it up for use and "decommission" it when I had finished. I used to have to get the instructions out every time! I soon went back to using an ordinary sponge mop and bucket . Then those "Dettol" mops appeared - the ones where the bottle of Dettol is inside, you can spray some on the floor as you go by pressing a button on the handle and you have absorbent pads which you fit to the bottom of the mop. I loved this contraption, especially for giving part of the floor a quick wipe. I didn't bring it with me as I knew I wouldn't be able to get the pads here. A mop which will also dry would not be necessary here, as even in winter there are days when you can open the shutters and the tiles will dry in minutes.

It's surprising that something like the "Dettol" mop isn't available though, in a country where nearly all the floors are tiled, but I suspect it would be neither wet enough nor thorough enough for the Italian women, who have an unbridled passion for suds and masses of water. You should see our road in the early morning: there is all this water and you would think it had rained, until you notice that it is soapy. It is the water that the ladies have cheerfully chucked out on to the pavement after enthusiastically declaring war on their hallways. I'm afraid I haven't got the dedication of a neighbour in the apartment block opposite: as in this one, there is a man who is paid to come and clean the communal areas, but that is not good enough for her so in between his visits, she can be seen in the mornings, a long apron covering her elegant clothes, happily throwing water from a bucket over every nook and cranny of her condominio's entrance hall. "C'è tanto polvere, signora" [ = "there's so much dust"] she calls to me as Simi and I pass. Simi has learnt to duck as we go by in case the lady chooses that moment to send the contents of her bucket splashing down the street!

I'm more of a "Well, floor, that's all the cleaning you're going to get today and think yourself lucky to have had that" girl, myself.