Laundry, the weekly shop, the bins. Not a metaphor

I would like to do somebody's laundry, ironing, weekly shop and bins. Not as a metaphor and not as a scene. The actual dull half of a week, done reliably, by me, so that she can spend her Sunday on something better.

Thirty three, south of the river, I work in a lab and my hours are regular and dependable. I grew up in a house where my mother did every bit of this after a full shift and nobody once noticed, and I suspect that is where it comes from, though I have stopped trying to find a tidier explanation for myself.

I have done it once, for about a year, and it fell apart because we never agreed what happened when I did it badly. Nothing happened, is the answer. After a while I stopped bothering and she stopped asking and there was nothing left holding it up.

So this time I want rules with teeth in them, in the plainest sense: a standard, an inspection, and a consequence that is not a sulk. That is the whole of what I am asking for.

No money in either direction and nothing physical is required. If you want somebody to hand a list to on a Sunday night and to be genuinely irritated with on a Wednesday when the shirts are wrong, that is precisely the job. Not looking to live in. Not looking for a woman who finds the idea funny, because I have had that, and it is worse than being turned down.