DONE AND DUSTED

Are you looking for a way to be happier? Well, I've recently read something very interesting: apparently researchers at University College London have found that just 20 minutes of housework a week reduces stress and lifts one's spirits.

Now, I haven't seen the research – and I've got far too much housework to do to investigate further – but what I've read has made me think.

For a start, it suggests to me that, in general, people are now doing less than 20 minutes of housework a week – otherwise the findings wouldn't really be relevant to many people. It seems such a small amount of time compared to the hours I spend trying to keep our finca clean and tidy.

It's not that I'm a domestic goddess, who likes nothing better than buffing her mirrors or sweeping dust bunnies out from under the bed (although I doubt a real domestic goddess would have let things get that bad down there); it's simply that living in an old finca in the Mallorcan countryside is rather housework-intensive.

Dust is the demon here. In the winter, our woodburning stove is mainly to blame. Just bringing the log basket in usually leaves a trail of shredded bark, insects, moss etc on the floor and then there's the carrying out of the ashes every morning. If we're really lucky when we open the outside door, the wind doesn't blast the ashes out of the pan and all over the room. We're not often that lucky.

But come the spring and summer, when the stove is cold and doors and windows flung open, there's another challenge in keeping the place tidy: the detritus blown in by the strong winds that usually whip through our valley. In July and August, when the ground is parched, clouds of dust - as well as the usual dead leaves and bits of twig - often accompany us in from the garden.

And don't get me started on those strange terracotta ceiling tiles that grace these old fincas. Until The Boss got up there with a ladder and pot of filler, the gaps between some of them in our guest bathroom ceiling were so large that all manner of bugs – both dead and alive – regularly fell through from the space between the roof tiles and ceiling, littering the bathroom floor.

Our two long-haired cats make their own contribution to my domestic duties. They were the same in the UK, but the hairs didn't show on the carpet like they do on tiled floors! Minstral, our Birman, is so furry that clouds of fine white hairs waft in his wake as he walks. And isn't clearing up furballs fun? Just as well that I love them . . . the cats, not the furballs.

I've just realised that I could have mopped the floor and dusted the dining room in the time I've taken to write this, but do I care?

No. Reducing my housework to just 20 minutes a week is definitely going to lift my spirits.

Copyright Jan Edwards 2008