Vincent Van Gough should have painted Marigolds

I'm getting so carried away with this tidying thing that I've even been through all the e-mails lying around in my inbox and filed them away. Soon there will be NOTHING LEFT TO TIDY UP. This is a shame as I have now got into the hang of walking around the house with loud music playing; a pile of 'J Cloths' in one hand and a can of squirty stuff in the other. I feel an involuntary 'tsk tsk' leaving my lips as I see a fleck of dirt on the oven or a patch of dust I've missed. I'm getting worried my personality is changing. Is there something the manufacturers put into 'Mr Sheen' that permeates your brain and turns you into a dusting addict? Does 'Windowlene' clean your mind out? Or is it the 'J Cloth'? They lie there looking all innocent in your cleaning cupboard, but the minute you pick one up you succomb to the secretly impregnated chemicals in the sinister blue and white stripes that mean you can't resist the urge to start wiping surfaces down. You snap on the sunflower yellow Marigolds, hold your hands up like a surgeon about to delve into an abdominal cavity, and plunge into the sink to scoop out the gunk that's been there long enough to start a colony of MRSA all of its own. There's nothing that can't be achieved with a pair of Marigolds on.