Sounds like something that might be written sideways on a file box in a solicitor’s office, doesn’t it?
It’s much less glamorous than that and not half as exciting. It’s still just me, trying to get ready for the next show ahead of time in order to have time for writing.
As usual when I have use of time carefully planned from the minute I open my eyes, it all went pear shaped. Wonky pear at that, the kind that gets left in the box at the supermarket as it has a bent end, a thumb print in the middle and a soft bit at the base.
Do you recall the OH saturating the kitchen with soup a few postings ago? It took some days to spot all the places where the soup had run down from the ceiling. The latest, which was into the twin socket beside the hob only became apparent when the OH decided to blend the latest lot of soup and got a little coil of smoke coming from the socket but no electricity.
After a couple of days of ringing electricians who do not answer their phone, despite their advertisements assuring the reader of prompt attention, the OH decided to go it alone. I had by then remembered the phone number of the regular electrician. I do this thing because I do not outsource my thinking to a smart phone. I prefer to do it myself. I know this is quaint and leads to behaviour such as waking in the night to shout out a telephone number. Providing I have a little notebook by the bed, all is well.
The OH had sent for a new twin socket and turned off all the electricity just as I was on the computer banking app. I therefore, having briefly discovered that we are solvent, this month, providing there are no crises, descended to witness the virtuoso electrical competence but was, alas, disappointed. After the fetching of three different sets of screwdrivers and a good deal of hammering and swearing from the OH. For lo! The new socket didn’t work either. Annoyed and flailing like an eel on a sofa, he knocked off an empty glass jar which had previously contained passata, now incorporated into soup. The glass jar shattered into more fragments than a millefiori stained glass window. Half an hour later we were still finding bits. To cries of ‘Why are you sweeping with that broom? You don’t need that! I’ve got a dustpan!’ and fresh crunching, I swept the floor and found most of it. You never think of glass as being well-travelled, but it is.
So that was the afternoon when I was going to rationalise the cases.
I’ll have another go tomorrow, after I have rung some proper electricians, remembering that the most important tool for the usual householder to possess, is not three screwdriver sets but a fat wallet. I would make the electrician a cup of tea in the hope of a smaller bill, if I only had a working socket.
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