It started with a bucket of mop water and an exploding Hoover.
I was sixteen, working my first summer job cleaning the halls of a dodgy block of flats in East London. Day one, I knocked over a bucket of water, tripped over the cord, and sent the vacuum flying down the stairs. It landed with a thud so loud, a neighbour called the council. I still remember the smell—burnt plastic and embarrassment.
I thought I was finished then and there. But the old guy I worked with—Malik, sixty-three, sharp as vinegar—just laughed. He told me, “You’re not a cleaner ‘til you’ve destroyed a vacuum.”
Twenty-odd years on, I’ve scrubbed Mayfair penthouses and mopped up after mud-soaked Glastonbury tents. I’ve cleaned dressing rooms for pop stars, polished studio floors for fashion shoots, and spent days restoring disaster sites to spotless beauty. Still, people ask, “When do you know you’re a real pro?” My answer? Somewhere between your first broken Hoover and your hundredth saved carpet.
Calling yourself a veteran isn’t about the uniform or years on the clock. It’s about the lessons that only come when you’re wrist-deep in bleach and battling stubborn limescale at 1am. It’s about experience, humility, and the urge to pass it all on. So here’s my take, straight from London’s grubbiest corners to your screen.
It’s Easy to Learn, But Only Experience Teaches You the Real Magic
Everyone Knows How to Spray and Wipe – Or Do They?
The basics? Dead simple. Spray, scrub, rinse, repeat. Anyone can do it. And many do—badly. It’s the same with anything: holding a paintbrush doesn’t make you an artist. You need to know what you’re doing. And that knowledge comes from years of fiddling, failing, and figuring it out as you go.
Like how to lift chewing gum off carpet without ripping the fibres. Or the right time of day to clean windows so the sun doesn’t leave streaks. Or that one brand of toilet cleaner that’ll eat through limescale like a lion through steak. These aren’t things you find on the back of a bottle. You find them after hours of real graft, or from someone generous enough to show you.
Experience teaches you to see the stuff others miss. It’s why real pros spot cobwebs behind light fixtures and fingerprints on the underside of door handles. You don’t learn that on day one. But once you’ve done a hundred walkthroughs with fussy clients, you start seeing the world in smudges.
Keep Learning – You’ll Never Know It All
There’s Always a New Trick Waiting
Cleaning is old, but it’s not stuck in the past. Every year, there’s a new tool, new chemical, or clever hack doing the rounds. You’d be daft to think you’ve got nothing left to learn. I still pick up tips from twenty-year-olds on TikTok—seriously. Some of them have never done a full day’s clean in their life, but they’ve found ways to descale a kettle using two teabags and a prayer. And sometimes it works.
Being open to learn isn’t a weakness. It’s what keeps you sharp. I’ve worked alongside ex-hotel cleaners who taught me speed. I’ve worked with old-school East End caretakers who made a mop dance like it was alive. I’ve done training on eco-cleaning, chemical safety, and even how to talk to clients without sounding like you’re selling something dodgy.
The moment you think you know it all, that’s when you’ll start slipping. Probably on a wet floor you forgot to signpost.
Forget the Years – It’s the Jobs That Count
One Big Clean Beats a Month of Light Dusting
You can clean for ten years and still be clueless if all you’ve done is a few office bins and a quick spray-round. On the flip side, I’ve met cleaners two years in who’ve already tackled hoarder homes, blocked drains, and post-festival tents—and it shows.
It’s not about time. It’s about volume. Variety. Chaos. Cleaning high, low, fast, slow. Places with deadlines and zero tolerance for mess. I learned more in three days scrubbing a grime-coated music venue after an all-nighter than I did in a year of wiping down spotless law offices.
Every job adds something to your toolbox. The more jobs you take, the more disasters you face, the sharper your instincts get. Like knowing when a carpet stain is wine, blood, or ketchup—without sniffing it (although we all have, let’s be honest).
So don’t wait for a badge or a plaque. Stack your jobs, build your instincts, and one day, you’ll clean a mansion in two hours and still have time for a sandwich.
Pride Comes Before the Streak
There’s Always a Job That’ll Humble You
Just when you think you’re the king of clean, along comes a job that slaps the ego right out of you.
Mine came last year. I was feeling pretty smug. I’d just finished a spotless post-renovation deep clean in Kensington. Not a speck in sight. The client walked in, nodded, then pointed to a mark on a high window. “That’s still there,” she said. I climbed up—it was inside two panes of double glazing. Couldn’t be touched. Still, she wasn’t impressed. I’d cleaned the world, but missed the one smudge she could see.
There’s always something. A streak you missed. A carpet that won’t come clean. A toilet that makes you question your life choices. Being good doesn’t mean being perfect—it means being honest when you’re not.
A real pro doesn’t throw a tantrum when a job goes sideways. You take a breath, own it, and fix what you can. Or, if you’re smart, you learn from it and get better for the next one.
Humility’s part of the job. The mop teaches you more than the mirror ever will.
Don’t Keep the Tricks to Yourself
If You’ve Got the Goods, Share Them
I’ve never understood cleaners who keep their tips secret, like they’re guarding the crown jewels. We’re not magicians. We’re workers. If you’ve found a way to clean oven glass in ten minutes flat, why not tell someone?
I’ve shown rookies how to clean a microwave with lemon and steam, how to dry a bathroom floor with a squeegee, how to polish metal taps with toothpaste. It’s not rocket science. But to someone starting out, it might as well be.
Teaching someone else makes you better too. You spot your own bad habits, remember the basics, and maybe pick up a fresh view in return. And let’s be honest—it feels good. Watching someone nail a tricky job using your tip? That’s proper pride.
If you really want to be a cleaning veteran, be the person others turn to for help. Not the one clinging to secrets like a cleaner dragon hoarding toilet rolls.
So… When Can You Call Yourself a Cleaning Veteran?
The truth? You don’t wake up one day and decide you’re a veteran. It creeps up on you.
It’s in the way your hands move without thinking. In how you pack your caddy just right. In the confidence that tells you, “I’ve seen worse—and I handled it.”
You’re a veteran when you stop chasing perfection and start chasing consistency. When you clean not just with your arms, but with your eyes and brain too. When others ask you how to do it, and you have the answers.
You don’t need a title. You just need the trust of those who’ve seen you work.
Me? I still trip over mop buckets now and then. But I haven’t broken a Hoover in a while. And I still carry Malik’s words in my head. “You’re not a cleaner ‘til you’ve destroyed a vacuum.” He was right, in his own way. But more than that—you’re not a veteran until you’ve cleaned enough to know you’re still learning.
And maybe that’s what makes this job special. There’s always another smudge to chase. Always another trick to learn. And always someone out there waiting for you to show them how it’s really done.
Fancy that.