A Bit of Hoovering

It was eight o’clock on a warm May morning. Mr. Brown was in the bathroom singing the Hallelujah Chorus. Mrs. Brown was in the kitchen mixing homemade muesli and chopping bananas for breakfast. Ten-year-old Betsy was brushing her hair while revising for a French test. Nine-year-old Brian was watching an item on TV about Cruft’s Dog Show. Baby Brown was upstairs in his cot.

The family gathered in the kitchen and sat down to breakfast. Mr. Brown mentioned a big financial deal he was handling at the bank; he was the Assistant Manager. Betsy spoke enthusiastically of her French test, in which she was expecting to do well. Brian apologized for the state of his room and said he would tidy it up after school. Mrs. Brown nodded amiably but otherwise said little. She was looking forward to a having the house to herself and getting on with a bit of hoovering.

Silence. Immobility. Shock.

‘Hang on a minute.’ Mrs. Brown lowered her spoon. ‘What’s all this? “Looking forward to a bit of hoovering”?’ A puzzled frown. ‘I hate hoovering.’

‘I hate muesli, come to that,’ said Mr. Brown, staring perplexedly into his bowl.

‘Me, too!’ cried Brian.

‘And I hate French!’ Betsy yelled.

Silence again as the Browns considered their unusual situation.

Mrs. Brown said, ‘Who writes this rubbish?’

-Allan Ahlberg, The Better Brown Stories, 2-3.