Is This Dust I See?
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…Likewise the Maid…
Photo-story from Februs 1 Katrina could never resist a telephone: public kiosks, state-of-the-art domestics, cordless, mobiles… any sort of telephone cried out to her to be used. It was therefore inevitable that as she made her ineffectual flicks with her feather duster she would be overcome by the urge to call a friend or two. ‘Hi, Ginny? It’s me, Katrina. Listen this job is brilliant…’ She started in a rushed, hushed whisper, but soon relaxed and was giggling loudly as she told her friend about the cushy billet she had found. ‘Yeah, he’s some kind of ageing hippy artist who’s sort of gone respectable. Huge house: you ought to see my room. I’ve got the run of the place as long as I wear this twee little uniform and make a show of doing the odd spot of housework. It’s all for show, though, there’s a proper cleaning woman that comes in at the crack of dawn and does the real stuff. Anyway, the great man’s out this ...