Ding! Ding! Round Two.

It was time for another meeting across the bridge this week. I left early, because I had to stop at school first. Plan sound familiar? Yes, its almost a repeat of the attempted journey in my last post. This time, the car stayed cool, the bridge was a breeze, and I made it to the meeting an hour and a half early. Woo hoo! Plenty of time for a coffee and some quiet reading in the 'Foodini.' I havent decided yet if I like the name of the canteen.

This week was also Round Two for tackling the bathroom door. We had been living with the curtain for a few weeks now because I kept forgetting to borrow the electric screwdriver from work, and Dee kept forgetting to borrow the electric screwdriver from work. So we had developed bathroom-curtain-etiquette to near perfection, but it was never going to last. As so often seen in history, the end of an era was precipitated by a seemingly unconnected crisis.

At the weekend an electrical catastrophe befell the household. I was just about to do my hair before going out on Saturday night. The putty was in my fingers, on its way to create hairdo magic when a loud click and sudden death of electrical devices all around heralded as yet unknown doom for certain white goods.

I was thrown into panic, not so much by the circuit breaker breaking, but more by the alarm alarming. Loss of power was clearly interpreted as a burglary, or rather an intrusion, in process (my landlord once told me there are no burglars in Liverpool, just intruders) and the neighbourhood needed to be informed. So with alarm screaming and fingers in goop, I rushed down to restore order at the electric cabinet.

Order didnt come easily. The sofa needed moving. All the devices needed switching off throughout the house and even in the outhouse. I had to go out there with my wee torch in the pitch black. I startled a big fly in the outhouse, and it responded by flying in my face. I dont think either of us were very happy. It must have taken about 10 minutes or so before I could get the alarm off.

It turned out the washing machine was the culprit, and in all the excitement, the oven gave up the ghost too. So the liberal landlord was called upon to investigate and rectify. The problem for me was the bathroom door needed finishing so I wouldnt have to admit that we let it fall off the wall. That would have been embarrassing. I think we got away with it.

For those holding their breath - the oven was revived earlier today, but the washing machine has gone to live on a farm.