Confessions of a Tim Tam hostage

August 21, 2026 — 10:00am

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We had a succession of cleaning ladies when I was growing up. They were both big game and a big game to me, and I hunted them around our house with water pistol, peashooter and cap gun. Year after year they were shot for lions, buffalo, gorillas, Comanches, Nazis and burglars, and I metaphorically mounted their hair-curlered heads and hung them in our hall.

When our own kids were little Sarah and I employed a cleaning lady named Anthea who came every Tuesday. She didn’t cost much and seemed happy enough to pretend to clean for a few hours. It wasn’t onerous work - Sarah always cleaned the house on Monday night, before Anthea arrived on Tuesday, so she wouldn’t think us lazy and foul.

My mistreatment of my childhood cleaning ladies left me awkward and ashamed in Anthea’s presence. I was younger, fitter, with better eyesight and a keener awareness of germ theory than she, and guilt forced me to retreat into my study whenever she showed up. I wasn’t writing much then, having become........

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