End of Tenancy Cleaning in Holborn

Guilford Street runs between Gray's Inn Road and Russell Square, and the mansion blocks along the northern side are the dark red-brick kind that look like they were designed by someone who believed that a building should announce itself. Five storeys, arched entrances, big windows, the kind of communal staircase with tiled walls and iron banisters that has been cleaned by a porter every week since 1910 and still looks it. We were doing a flat on the second floor.

Two bedrooms, a reception room at the front, a separate kitchen, a bathroom, and a hallway that was wide enough to put a table in, which someone had. The flat had been refitted about 10 years ago — the kitchen was modern, the bathroom was modern, but the reception room still had the original parquet floor, the original cornicing, the original proportions of a room designed when ceiling height was measured in ambition rather than building regulations. About 750 sqft. Furnished — a sofa, two armchairs, a dining table, a bookcase, a bed, two bedside tables, a desk. All good quality, all the landlord's. £2,400 a month.

The tenant was a barrister who'd been there 18 months. She worked at a chambers in Lincoln's Inn and walked to work every morning across the Fields. She'd lived alone, cooked occasionally, and the flat reflected someone who spent more time at work than at home. Managed by Black Katz from their Bloomsbury office.

Parked via a metered bay on Guilford Street. Two hours maximum. We'd be done in three, so the van moved to Theobald's Road after we'd unloaded. Carried the kit up two flights.

Kitchen first. A separate room, about 7 sqm, the refit. Integrated Siemens oven, induction hob, integrated fridge, dishwasher. Eighteen months of a barrister who ate at chambers most days and cooked maybe three times a week at home. The oven was light. Single dwell, one pass, 10 minutes. The hob had a single coffee ring from a moka pot. Cleaned. Quartz worktop wiped. Dishwasher interior cleaned, seal wiped. Inside all the cupboards — half of them had one item in each. A cupboard with a single mug in it tells you a lot about a tenancy. Floor — vinyl — mopped. Behind the fridge: pulled out slightly, wall wiped. Clean. Kitchen total: 20 minutes.

Reception room. The parquet floor — herringbone, lacquered, in excellent condition. The kind of parquet that has survived a century of tenants because the block has always been looked after and the lacquer has been reapplied every decade. Mopped with specialist parquet product, working with the grain. The furniture: sofa vacuumed, cushions lifted — a paperclip and a biro lid. Both armchairs vacuumed. Dining table wiped. The bookcase: each shelf wiped. The bottom shelf had a legal textbook that wasn't on the inventory — the tenant's. Placed on the dining table. The desk: wiped, monitor stand wiped.

Two sash windows at the front — 6-over-6, 24 panes across both. Each cleaned. The windows faced south and the afternoon sun showed every mark, same problem as the west-facing window in West Kensington. Second pass on the lower panes where the light was strongest. Cornicing dusted — about 3 metres up. Picture rail dusted. 22 minutes.

Bathroom. Modern refit — walk-in shower with frameless glass, wall-hung basin, wall-hung toilet, heated towel rail. Eighteen months of single-person use. Light limescale on the shower glass. Single descaler, one pass. Taps light. Toilet light. The grout was clean. Floor — large-format tiles — mopped. 14 minutes.

Two bedrooms. Master: carpeted, vacuumed. A sash window — 4-over-4, 16 panes. The landlord's double bed, wiped. Under the bed: vacuumed. Wardrobe — fitted — wiped inside. On the top shelf of the wardrobe: a wig tin. Round, dark blue, the kind that barristers keep their wigs in. It was empty. The wig had gone to chambers. The tin had been forgotten. Placed on the dining table next to the legal textbook. 12 minutes.

Second bedroom — used as a study. Carpeted, vacuumed. A sash window. The landlord's desk and chair, wiped. A reading lamp, wiped. A small ink stain on the carpet under the desk — fountain pen, about the size of a 2p piece. Spot-treated with specialist ink remover. It lightened significantly but a faint shadow remained. Documented. 10 minutes.

Hallway: the hallway table — the landlord's — wiped. A stack of post on the table, rubber-banded together. The tenant's. Left in place. Parquet in the hallway — same finish, same product, same treatment as the reception. Front door wiped. 5 minutes.

Total time: 3 hours. Two people. A 750 sqft furnished mansion block flat where the oven took 10 minutes because the tenant ate at chambers, the parquet took 15 minutes across two rooms because you work with the grain and you use the right product, and the sash windows took 20 minutes across the flat because the south-facing light demanded a second pass. A flat that a barrister lived in for 18 months and that still had her wig tin on the wardrobe shelf and her legal textbook on the bottom of the bookcase when she left.

Black Katz's negotiator arrived two days later. He had a tablet with the inventory and the check-in photos from 18 months earlier. He walked from the Bloomsbury office — about 6 minutes.

Reception: parquet — he looked across the floor from the doorway. Even sheen, no watermarks. He stepped in and checked the area under where the dining table sits, where feet scuff and chairs slide. Clean, no scratches through the lacquer. Sash windows: he checked one lower pane where the sun hits. Clean. Cornicing: looked up. Clean. Bookcase: he looked at the bottom shelf. Empty. The textbook was on the dining table.

Kitchen: oven opened, phone torch in. Clean. Quartz: hand-tested. Clean. He opened the cupboard with the single mug. It was still there, clean. He looked at the cupboard next to it — also one item, a plate. Clean.

Bathroom: shower glass angle-tested. Clean.

Study: the ink stain under the desk. He crouched and looked at it. Compared to check-in — the carpet had been new at check-in. The shadow was visible. He photographed it and noted it. Fountain pen ink on a barrister's study carpet is not the same as crayon on a bedroom wall, but the documentation process is identical.

The wig tin on the dining table. He looked at it. He picked it up, opened it — empty — and put it back. He'd seen a lot of things left behind in WC1 flats. A wig tin was specific to the profession and specific to the neighbourhood. He noted it as tenant property.

Ten minutes. Everything passed on the cleaning. The ink shadow was noted separately. The wig tin, the textbook, and the rubber-banded post were noted as tenant property for collection.

Deposit returned in full within 7 days. The barrister moved to a 1-bed in one of the Gray's Inn managed properties — even closer to chambers, slightly smaller, slightly cheaper, no furnished inventory to worry about. The wig tin went with her eventually. The parquet on Guilford Street was mopped by the porter the following week, the same way it had been mopped every week since the block was built, and the flat waited for the next tenant who wanted to live in a mansion block with century-old floors and walk to work across Lincoln's Inn Fields.