Do you want your windows cleaning? Call this number… Do you want someone to whiz round with a duster? Call this number… Do you want help with your ironing? Call this number… Either someone thinks I’m a lazy slob or I’ve got more cash than I know what to do with.

Recently my home has been bombarded with flyers offering everything from dog-walking to toenail-trimming.

Does my floor need mopping? Would I like my car washing? Or my furniture polishing?

Whenever I receive one of these offers my in-built paranoia kicks in and I rush to the window to see whether I’ve been singled out as someone who has obviously let things slide.

Has someone surreptitiously peered through the window and seen the huge pile of ironing that blots out the sun, and have they also spotted the thick layer of dust that sits on top of the TV?

You wouldn’t need to be Hetty Wainthropp to see that our windows are caked in bird poo, and the car looks like its been off-road in a thunderstorm.

Yes, we are far from being on top of things. But I’m sick of being reminded every time I hear the letterbox.

It would be easy to get someone in to tackle all these jobs – as many people do judging by the huge rise in the amount people spend on domestic help (it has quadrupled over the past decade, with more than a quarter of households employing someone to lend a hand) but even if we could afford it, I wouldn’t do it.

I was brought up by parents who were totally against any form of domestic help. Despite being rushed off their feet, they did everything themselves. “So and so has got a cleaner – why can’t she do it herself?” my mother would say.

I believe if you can do it yourself, why pay? I’d feel embarrassed to have someone washing my family’s undies, making the beds, or cleaning the bath – we go beachcombing along our tide mark.

It’s all too personal and, to my mind, very upstairs/downstairs. Cleaners aren’t even known as cleaners any more – they’re now ‘maids’. I just hope they curtsey before leaving the room.

My husband can’t understand why I have this guilt trip. “You pay someone to cut your hair, so why not to tidy the house?” he asks.

Maybe it’s time I changed my mind. After all, despite being at home half the week, I never seem to be in control.

I’ve worked out a compromise. We’ll get a gardener instead. I won’t feel so guilty and my husband will be free to help me with the cleaning.