NOTWITHSTANDING the immeasurable virtues of welders, builders, mechanics and associated trades, we recognise the value and dignity of labour in all its forms. Thus we laud and celebrate not only those who toil with blood, sweat and tears – but also those who tackle such stubborn stains thereafter. Hail to that vast and overlooked army, whose daily mission is to combat the ravages of entropy! Salute their sisyphean struggle to sweep, polish and scrub away the encroaching detritus of our industrialised lives!
Our fingers poised over the triggers of detergents and surfactants, we liberate the notion of “utility wear” from its military-industrial complexities. This is our battledress: the shieldlike tabard, the rugged livery of a dishcloth stripe; the crumpled linen of a housekeeper’s handcloth. From domestic scraps of textile and cord, we weave layered garments of moplike texture; in durable drill and thick jersey, we fight the dusty and soiled notions that separate the public from the domestic spheres. Even our hues are natural and unsullied, shot through with a cleansing blast of antiseptic blue and fresh mint. Our work is never done.
We will glorify chores, the world’s only hygiene. So do your domestic duty – clean up your act!