Bras and bleach

Unless we are going to meet the Queen, Brits wear exactly the same clothes at home as we do everywhere else. Poles are generally much better dressed than Brits but, for some reason, as soon as they get home they feel an irresistible urge to transform. The gentleman seen strolling down the street with a sharp suit, shining shoes and briefcase can be found at home 20 minutes later wearing one sock, shorts from 1974 and a vest.

I know this is true because, despite the public-private distinction, Poles do not recognise any distinction between being inside and being on their balconies in full view of 200 neighbours. Binoculars are not required to see these sights, glancing out of the window is sufficient.

The perfectly turned-out lady from number 37 across the street would not dare step onto the pavement with less than an hour's preparation, but she thinks nothing of appearing on her balcony wearing pyjamas, a towel on her head and bunny rabbit slippers.

There's a 50-year-old gentleman in the next block who appears on his balcony every morning wearing beautifully-polished black shoes, socks, pants and nothing else. He sits and smokes a cigarillo for 10 minutes before going to work. Perhaps he believes he is invisible, or perhaps he just doesn't care.

My wife will spend 20 minutes getting ready to go to the shop four minutes away, comes home and spend another 20 minutes changing into proportionally less sophisticated 'at home' clothes, then enjoys another changing session in preparation for cleaning the floor. I'm exhausted just watching her.

I was thinking about all this as I watched "Uwaga!" I always watch Uwaga! because it's impossible to resist a program with an exclamation mark in its title. This week there was a breathless report about 'bikini-cleaning.' Apparently, for just 400 zl you can hire women to come to your house and scrub your floor while wearing only their underwear.

I'm not sure this service is going to find customers in Poland. If there is a woman living in your house, there is a 90 percent chance that she will scrub the floor wearing something close to underwear in the next seven days – and it will cost you nothing. Even if you wanted to stop her, you couldn't.

The 'bikini-cleaners' featured on "Uwaga!" were the least erotic thing I have seen since Britney Spears decided that underwear and limousines don't go together. The women were clearly cleaners wearing underwear rather than underwear models doing cleaning. The 'bikini-cleaning' advert was all about flimsy thongs and feather dusters, the reality was all about sensible underwear and bleach.

Perhaps I've misunderstood the market. It is, after all, easy to find a cleaner, but where can you get that authentic Polish domestic atmosphere if you are a male living alone? I advise the bikini cleaners to concentrate less on the sexy part and a lot more on the nostalgia of having your house cleaned by a woman with visible bra straps – it’s a tradition as Polish as vodka and pierogi.

Jamie Stokes