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This is Plymouth --
YOU know you have to do something about it when the pile of smelly clothes in the corner of your bedroom tries to engage with you in jaunty conversation.
It's not that I don't mind talking to my clothes, it's when they start to answer back which tends to be a little unnerving. I never know what to say. And I must admit that different types of stitch have never been one of my hottest topics.
But something had to done about this pile of clothes. They could not just sit there becoming mouldy. For all I knew if I had left them there any longer, they might have brought it upon themselves to have evolved, while at the same time forming a new kind of religion. Most likely dedicated to clothes pegs.
These clothes were in this state because my washing machine, which had seen many revolutions over the years, had finally given up the ghost. For some reason it refused one morning to take orders and that was it.
This washing machine is now in the great graveyard of washing machines in the sky, and my unwashed clothes, as previously discussed, have taken on a sentient life of their own.
Therefore it was time to brave the temples of consumer durables. It was time to stand in front of many washing machines and vote out which one would not serve my purpose. I had never realised before how many washing machines there were in this world.
All of them were lined up in front of me, their shiny whiteness coaxing me to buy them, and take them for a quick spin around the block. It's strange to think that you can't take these models of modern technology for a test wash, like you can take a car for a test drive.
In the end, though, I made my choice. I made my mind up. Out of all the thousands of washing machines lined up I picked one, paid the money and then arranged to have it delivered. The girl on the cash till was not very impressed with my washing machine-themed chat up lines.
Anyhow I was now the proud owner of one washing machine, to be delivered. I came back with a sense of elation. Even a sense of victory. There was purpose to my life and I was not afraid to confirm that fact to any soul I met that day.
In fact two rather rotund well-cured hams known for propping up bars on the Barbican were in the long run quite impressed by my choice of machine. For a few seconds I was quite hip and swish for the first time in my life. Not bad for someone who is not a bus driver!
Meanwhile, back in the room known as reality. The washing machine arrived. And then I had to spend a little time fitting the thing in to the space where the old one had lived for the best part of a century.
Now over the years I must admit having fought many battles with creatures which came out of the darkness of the mind: and I have never been defeated. That was until I encountered the dreaded creature, otherwise known as a new washing machine.
The water pipes were fitted quite easily. The drainage pipe went were it should be. It needs no special skill to plug the unit into an electric socket. Only I was not ready for the slam-down wrestling match which was to follow.
This was a classic title fight of man vs machine, a David and Goliath struggle of titanic proportions. And I think to a certain extent the machine won. But the overall victory was mine.
I threw myself at the machine and began to try and push it backwards in to the space where it will live its operational life. Yet it resisted. The washing machine stood firm. Then, just when I thought all was lost, I managed to get it into the hole where it was meant to go with just a few millimetres to spare.
And then it stopped and held its ground unmovable, unshifting, unfeeling, not wanting to be told that it's going to have wash nigh on two weeks worth of clothes.
Only then I finally gave a final push, lifted the machine off the ground, and put it back down in the space where it belonged. At this point the machine surrendered and victory was mine and mine alone.
My next heroic task will be to convince the sentient pile of clothes in my bedroom that they must be washed for the greater good of humanity. I hope you will wish me well. Reported by This is 21 hours ago.
Clik here to view.
This is Plymouth --YOU know you have to do something about it when the pile of smelly clothes in the corner of your bedroom tries to engage with you in jaunty conversation.
It's not that I don't mind talking to my clothes, it's when they start to answer back which tends to be a little unnerving. I never know what to say. And I must admit that different types of stitch have never been one of my hottest topics.
But something had to done about this pile of clothes. They could not just sit there becoming mouldy. For all I knew if I had left them there any longer, they might have brought it upon themselves to have evolved, while at the same time forming a new kind of religion. Most likely dedicated to clothes pegs.
These clothes were in this state because my washing machine, which had seen many revolutions over the years, had finally given up the ghost. For some reason it refused one morning to take orders and that was it.
This washing machine is now in the great graveyard of washing machines in the sky, and my unwashed clothes, as previously discussed, have taken on a sentient life of their own.
Therefore it was time to brave the temples of consumer durables. It was time to stand in front of many washing machines and vote out which one would not serve my purpose. I had never realised before how many washing machines there were in this world.
All of them were lined up in front of me, their shiny whiteness coaxing me to buy them, and take them for a quick spin around the block. It's strange to think that you can't take these models of modern technology for a test wash, like you can take a car for a test drive.
In the end, though, I made my choice. I made my mind up. Out of all the thousands of washing machines lined up I picked one, paid the money and then arranged to have it delivered. The girl on the cash till was not very impressed with my washing machine-themed chat up lines.
Anyhow I was now the proud owner of one washing machine, to be delivered. I came back with a sense of elation. Even a sense of victory. There was purpose to my life and I was not afraid to confirm that fact to any soul I met that day.
In fact two rather rotund well-cured hams known for propping up bars on the Barbican were in the long run quite impressed by my choice of machine. For a few seconds I was quite hip and swish for the first time in my life. Not bad for someone who is not a bus driver!
Meanwhile, back in the room known as reality. The washing machine arrived. And then I had to spend a little time fitting the thing in to the space where the old one had lived for the best part of a century.
Now over the years I must admit having fought many battles with creatures which came out of the darkness of the mind: and I have never been defeated. That was until I encountered the dreaded creature, otherwise known as a new washing machine.
The water pipes were fitted quite easily. The drainage pipe went were it should be. It needs no special skill to plug the unit into an electric socket. Only I was not ready for the slam-down wrestling match which was to follow.
This was a classic title fight of man vs machine, a David and Goliath struggle of titanic proportions. And I think to a certain extent the machine won. But the overall victory was mine.
I threw myself at the machine and began to try and push it backwards in to the space where it will live its operational life. Yet it resisted. The washing machine stood firm. Then, just when I thought all was lost, I managed to get it into the hole where it was meant to go with just a few millimetres to spare.
And then it stopped and held its ground unmovable, unshifting, unfeeling, not wanting to be told that it's going to have wash nigh on two weeks worth of clothes.
Only then I finally gave a final push, lifted the machine off the ground, and put it back down in the space where it belonged. At this point the machine surrendered and victory was mine and mine alone.
My next heroic task will be to convince the sentient pile of clothes in my bedroom that they must be washed for the greater good of humanity. I hope you will wish me well. Reported by This is 21 hours ago.