Cleaning? Over-damn-rated

It's been a slow few weeks on the blog. A few personal issues have popped up along the way and broken my ability to write a decent post, let alone read a book or slap up a review. So apologies for my lackluster attentiveness to the written word and my casual ramblings of bullsh@#t.
I'm starting to get back into the swing of things, though, organising my paperwork, re-shuffling priorities, saving orphans and ... cleaning my car.
Apparently this is something you need to do regularly. Who knew?
On the stern advice of my father, I have spent at least twelve hours getting my four year old Mazda 3 up to scratch. Things were living in the carpets, the windows wouldn't go down because of the grit in the rubber seals, and I have so many paint chips on the bonnet that it looks like a pimply teenager's face.
Needless to say I have hoovered, washed, scrubbed, polished and ruined my God damn fingernails in an effort to make my car look brand new again. With success now a story I'm blogging about, I have to wonder when my laziness will once again reign supreme and my poor little Mazda will inherit take away rubbish, muddy mats, and a drunken bum living in the backseat.
My blue bucket of steel is the second home I can't live without, now possibly cleaner than than a hospital ward. So will I nurse it to continuing health, or will it fall victim to those little bastards who write 'wash me' on the dusty paintwork?
Time will tell.
Meanwhile, I'll be enjoying the shiny new polish, clean upholstery and ridiculously loud music pumping through my sound system. Yes, I'm that girl singing with reckless abandon at the traffic lights.
Have a good one,

Kristy :)