Wet socks and a warm glass of wine…
My washing machine and my fridge both packed up yesterday. On the same day. So now I’m going to rant about it.
I know white goods do die eventually but surely the two most expensive kitchen appliances could get together and work out some sort of rota system to ensure that they don’t stop making things cold and washing things as exactly the same time.
I opened the washing machine door to remove the (I assumed) clean clothes scented with Swiss mountain air but instead water poured out and all over the floor.
I’m quite a relaxed person (except when it comes to Henry but more about my date another time) so I simply watched the water cover the floor, squelched across the kitchen in my soaking wet socks and opened the fridge to remove a bottle of wine with which I could calmly ponder the situation. It wasn’t ice cold. It was warm.
The knock-on effects of this extraordinary double punch were pretty immense.
The outfit I wanted to wear for my second date with Henry was still dirty; the milk had gone off thereby ruining the cup of tea that I MUST HAVE before bedtime; and my purse took apounding the likes of which it hasn’t seen since Boilergate 08, Who knew the quiet appliances could be such purveyors of serious irritation.
I’ve been forced to spend the money on the evil pair. But I’ve decided if I win the lottery I’m going to make them redundant and send them packing.
Instead there will be a bag in my room into which the dirty clothes go, and a cupboard that they appear in freshly pressed later on in the day. And my glass of wine will be served by a barman in the bar in my new house. And tea will be served in a teapot with little cakes.
Or I could move into an SLH hotel I suppose. I bet they wouldn’t make me drink warm wine while wearing wet socks.