Farewell to elbow grease

Hello!

I bumped my head last night while cleaning the Shower of Doom. It hurts like hell. I reckon it was the SoD's way of getting back at me after I finally vanquished it through judicious usage of Lakeland's marvellous cleaning products. To fill you in, the Shower of Doom is so called because thus far it has resisted every effort to rid it of years of built-up limescale. The shower head looked like it was carved out of limestone. The shower door was opaque. Not good. Embarrassing, in fact. Like a big, shower-shaped sign saying, "Mrs Robinson is a slattern."

But then I bought these, and everything changed:

I spritzed the shower door with Scrub Free, and went off to browse Etsy for a while. I came back, wiped it down and Lord alive! Hallelujah! I could see through the door! And a few applications of Kilrock ate up all the limescale on the shower head until it looked like new.

Shower of Doom, you have no power over me! I feel like Sarah at the end of 'Labyrinth'. Which I guess would make the shower David Bowie. Hmmm. Not sure if that analogy really works.

On another, completely unrelated note, I think my bus stop might be in love with me:

Bus stop love