aggressive housekeeping

Alcoholic ginger beer - what an inspired creation! Anyway, I'm going to save the rest for watching in front of Dad's Army (yes, I truly am a crusty old fart these days).
Hubby is here, reading something for work whilst we wait for Son to stop watching Merlin and give up the telly to the delights of 1970s comedy.
Hubby has been learning lots of new stuff for work, and relating it back to me. If I ever bump into a brigadier, I will be able to wow him with phrases like 'deep dive', 'handrail' and 'aggressive housekeeping' (oh yes, really - doesn't it just conjour up the image of a huffy old general in a frilly pink apron with Marigolds at the ready?), all of which are current military terminology. Apparently the chaps at the top aren't terribly keen on 'aggressive housekeeping' as armed forces jargon, but nobody can think of a better phrase for the particulars of managing the Afghan drawdown, so lots of top brass and senior civil servants are having serious chats in the corridors of Whitehall about aggressive housekeeping.
Talking of which - Bertha has been doing very well, recently (I've dropped the 'mini' and just accepted her as the only housekeeper worthy of the name in this house). Hubby has become, over the last 24 hours since he got home, somewhat obsessed with her, which may in part be due to her military pedigree (apparently she's a direct descendant of bomb disposal robots). He has spent most of the day following her around, cleaning her brushes, and marvelling at her efficiency. He was never like this about Sanu, or Meena (or me, either...). Dog, however is less impressed. Perhaps he senses the competition. Bertha scurries around, looking cute, and moreover, actually contributing something to the household, rather than just being a hairy parasite that costs a fortune at the vets. Dog has been huffily trying to shed hair at a faster rate than Bertha can clear it up. But nobody can beat Bertha; it's an exercise in futility to try. Poor Dog. Oh well, he should hurry up and think of something useful to do, like make lasagne or change the bedding, in order to justify his (increasingly miserable) existence.
Only three minutes until Dad's army so I have got to go.
Enjoy your weekend xxx