Welcome to Maid Spin, the personal website of iklone. I write about about otaku culture as well as history, philosophy and mythology.
My interests range from anime & programming to mediaevalism & navigation. Hopefully something on this site will interest you.
I'm a devotee of the late '90s / early '00s era of anime, as well as a steadfast lover of maids. My favourite anime is Mahoromatic. I also love the works of Tomino and old Gainax.
To contact me see my contact page.
For the last two weeks I have, thanks to some special circumstances of my work, had the unique fortune of being able to reside at the Old Devonport Wardroom in Plymouth. The building basically serves as a government-run hotel, usually reserved for high-level civil servants, military officers and diplomats, who will often stay for extended periods of time while undertaking government-work. Such institutions are dotted around the country in strategic locations, most commonly in proximity to places designated "Critical National Infrastructure" to cater for those on "His Majesty's Service" and all that. Despite its importance, I imagined it would have the lacklustre affectations of the majority of our modern state-run services, but its actually very impressive. The building is ornately decorated inside-and-out with artefacts from Britain's age of prosperity: high ceilings, dark-oak furniture, oil paintings of agrarian and martial scenes alike. The riches accumulated by the British State in its time of honour have been carefully kept within the walls of her principal organs, much to the chagrin of many an elected-politician I am sure; this is certainly civil-servant work. But it isn't just the decor which has retained a Victorian style, but also the attitude of the service provided.
In many ways the building runs much like a hotel, with a manned foyer for checking-in, in-house dining, facilities for socialising, and room-cleaning services while you are away. But perhaps due to the less transient nature of guests (I gather many stay on for months at a time), it has a true "home-away-from-home" feeling which hotels often do attempt to emulate but invariably fail. You are expected to socialise somewhat with the other "members" (they are not to be called "guests"); for example you sit next to whoever happens to be in the dining room at dinnertime (and make small-talk), and the bar has rules more akin to a living room than a public house (you can pour your own pints and pay with honesty at the end, or even just bring your own drinks in). It's hard to describe it as "casual" though: there are strict regulations on dress (collared shirts at all time, and ties before 4PM), and you must always be wary of the true identity of anyone you interact with. They may be rather important after all. Instead I would say it is has the formality level of wedding or other event where everyone is friendly and welcoming to each other, but not necessarily "friends" or with any desire to become one.
The other aspect which I'm sure my readers will not be surprised to hear me say is the most exciting for me, is the domestic staff. I will preface my description with the unfortunate reality that they do not wear uniforms truly becoming of a "maid" or "butler": not a single lace bonnet or white cotton gloves have been seen so far, rather the staff wear plain black button-down shirts with open collars. But beggars can't be choosers. It's hard to put a number on the amount of staff employed here, which is to blame on the surreptitious manner by which they conduct their work. Like the black-clad "Kuroko" of Japanese Noh, they work behind the scenes as far as practicable to avoid imposing any sort of presence from the important work or conversations of the members. To provide a blemishless service without a trace is sound maid philosophy. The roles are very much gender-coded too, with the doorman and any practical workers being all men, and the waitresses, bairmaids and (for lack of a less anachronistic term) chambermaids being all women; which I have the knowledge to assure you is all in accordance with the standards of the golden era of the domestic retinue.
And although naturally fleeting, I enjoy the little moments when you do interact with them. The mild-mannered bows and "good mornings" while they hurry to shift their cleaning gear out of my way when I leave for work in the morning. The little attentions to detail I notice when coming back in the evening like my misaligned shoes being put straight or the window being cracked ajar on a unanticipatedly humid day (a good maid understands proper airflow after all). And although I know (and maybe even they can work out) that my work and status is actually much less important than such behaviours warrant, it would be rude to point out such incongruities as part of the "roleplay" which pervades polite British society. It is uncouth to undermine a perceived social relationship, even if such a relationship is false (sometimes even to the point of parody); one must play the part given to them by the situation in order to maintain a beautiful harmony and avoid breaking the spell. As an aside this behaviour is not completely peculiar to Britain. The Japanese have it, the French have it (when they forget they're pretending to be revolutionaries at least). The Germans and Scandies do not have it, and the Chinese absolutely do not have it (even though you think they might). I think it is the number one marker of perceived "rudeness" when Brits interact with foreign cultures, although most foreigners do not mean it that way.
For one I find the culmination of these little things deeply ingratiating and relaxing. A deep "healing" emotion which has become so difficult to find in our country these days. It is very hard to put into words, but you will (if I am not alone in this sensation) find it on occasion within the embrace of a good country pub, proper tearoom, or even on the too-soft armchairs in a grandmother's cluttered living room. I have also experienced such hospitable feelings in Japan at onsen-ryokan, or at the correct-sort of maid cafe (you must visit Wonder Parlour). I guess it is equivalent to "iyashi-kei", a term which I'm sure is at the core of service doctrine within the British Civil Service.
