Monday
Today I’m switching from Persil Non Bio to the vaguely scary sounding Dr. Barbara Sturm Laundry Detergent. With futuristic packaging and a molecular logo, it’s more Space NK than a laundry room. At £40 per liter it is almost six times more expensive than Persil and has a silver jigger instead of a dosing ball. Maybe it’s meant as a reminder that fun still exists – somewhere, above the dirty laundry.
The liquid promises that it is ‘kind to the skin, kind to clothes, kind to the planet’ and I promise myself that I will observe the results. Easier said than done. Just getting the clean laundry off the top of the washing machine feels huge most evenings, so I’m afraid I won’t notice whether the product is kind to my skin or not.
However, I do have my son’s dirty football uniform, which he loves. The bar is high. (Results to follow.)
Grime scene research: do more expensive products really add shine?
Tuesday
It’s Diptyque Day – exciting – and I have to test a dish soap. It comes in a beautiful amber glass bottle with the same iconic gothic label as the candles.
Spraying Diptyque on burnt porridge feels decadent – like I’m an aging supermodel going crazy in the Cotswolds. It smells like expensive shower gel, which is fine, if it doesn’t fit in the kitchen.
I put it up against Fairy on a different pan and am reminded of old TV ads for washing up liquid with their references to the mythical ‘dried egg’. The two products perform equally well, but the £35 Diptyque pump looks chicer by the sink. So much so that it keeps being mistaken for hand washing. If I bought it regularly I would find this quite annoying.
Wednesday
Washing the sheets calls, and I try to numb the pain with a £45 Maison Francis Kurkdjian linen care kit in Aqua Universalis – small 250ml bottles of detergent and fabric softener in a white box, as a gift set.
The effect is so elegant that it seems a shame to put them in the cupboard next to the washing machine. In fact, this exercise has made me aware of my lack of a ‘pantry status’.
Afterward, the sheets smell nice, but you really have to smell them to notice it. I spray the pillows with the Scented Linen Mist. Now they really do smell like a five-star hotel – as you’d hope, considering the spray costs £115 for 200ml (cheaper than a room at Claridge’s).
Thursday
Time for the fascinating-sounding Aesop Post Poo Drops, which cost £25 for 100ml and have a cult following. I use my youngest child – three years old – as a guinea pig. We await what the bottle coyly describes as “vigorous bathroom activity.”
Then we have a nice time putting three magic drops in the toilet and breathing deeply. Miraculously, all the odor disappears.
Intrigued, I read the fine print and am shocked. This stuff sounds just as deadly as Harpic, despite its cheerful appearance. “May be fatal if swallowed,” the report warns, with instructions to “do not inhale” and “keep confined.”
Since the three-year-old is only just getting out of the death-seeking phase, I’m following this advice.
Friday
Today I’m trying Diptyque Multi-Surface Cleaner With Vinegar (right), which smells like pickles with base notes from a gift shop. At £35 for 500ml it is excellent at degreasing a stainless steel hob and feels reassuringly soft on wooden surfaces. But it’s quite vinegary. The kids prefer Method Pink Grapefruit Multi-Surface Cleaner (£4.35 for 828ml) – which smells like Haribo.
Saturday A final wash test, via the adorable Not a Detergent from Juliette Has A Gun (£30 for 500ml). It’s scented with the brand’s beloved Not a Perfume scent, which was a hit in 2006, and I’m spending a nostalgic day smelling the Noughties and thinking of macarons, Paris Hilton and giant handbags.
However, this is all lost on the children’s pants. In other laundry news, the Sturm from earlier this week removed the football mud, but no bolognese stain.
Sunday
I’m taking a sabbatical from all froufrou products. While I can’t say they’re superior to their standard equivalents, they’re no worse. My house doesn’t look or smell any more luxurious than before; a few chichi bottles and perfumed laundry are no match for three boys under ten.
I’ll definitely be keeping the Diptyque products by the sink – and topping them up with Waitrose Essentials as needed. Ridiculous, I know – who am I trying to impress? In the meantime, the silver wax doser has been successfully reused as a shot measure. Win win.