Writing is not an easy task for me and it is proving quite challenging to be doing this everyday. This isn’t because there isn’t anything to say, quite the opposite really, as I don’t live in a bubble and stuff does happen in this house. I suppose it’s a matter of sifting through the ‘stuff’.
Take this week for example; it really does take some sifting. First the bed snapped, ok I know technically that was last week but it’s close enough in time to still be a problem. Well ok, it’s no real problem. Yet. It has snapped in three places and as one friend pointed out, the situation is precarious enough that we could find ourselves waking up in the middle of the night, on the floor if the bed collapses. Which it could at any moment and truth be told, I’m at pains to work out how it hasn’t and how the bed is still upright. Sure, the sides are still screwed to each end but bad visions still come to mind every time I get in bed so I’m still describing it here, the reasons for which will become clear. I’m not panicking though, as whilst it is upright it’s still useable, so no need to crack open the purse just yet.
Then, armed with a pair of pink marigolds, plastic step stool and a walking stick, Wednesday morning found me sifting of a different kind, through an industrial sized wheelie bin, for a blow-up mattress that the carer had thrown away by mistake. Well not by mistake exactly as it’s no longer usable (last week’s disaster, I won’t go into that here…) but as the NHS provided it, apparently they can get money back for items returned. Or something like that. Thankfully we have some great neighbours, and the lovely man next door helped with his ‘pick-up stick’, a great little gadget for picking up litter. Also great for getting mattresses out of bins we found.
Then the fridge started to make funny noises. No belly laughs here, I’m talking strange. In fact very strange, with a kind of vibrating thing going on. Not all the time, just intermittently. When you tell people something like that, a certain look appears on their face, like you’ve just lost the plot. Or if the same people are in the know about the bed, then they say, “Well, there’s two of the three, just one more to go!” Like that’s a help in any way… Anyway, I had a look on the web as to what the fridge problem might be and frankly, the results were bad. ‘Probably the compressor’ they said, and I’m not too sure about what that is, or of its function within the fridge, but the bad bit is that any problem with this component, essentially means that it would be cheaper to buy a new fridge rather than have it fixed. As I said, bad, particularly for the purse strings.
Anyhow, I kept to my usual form and thought to myself, ‘see how it goes, it’s probably nothing to worry about’. Hmm, not a bad strategy till the carer arrived the next day. Whilst she was preparing hubby’s breakfast, she asked “why is it soft?” Much hilarity and schoolboy mentality followed, to which she responded, “The butter, I’m talking about!” Now, normally when we get the butter out of the fridge it’s like a brick and we have to leave it for a bit before we can use it. A bit unfortunate for the purse strings, as one thing I did learn in my fridge ‘research’ is that the compressor has something to do with cooling. Soft butter indicated my earlier worries were justified. Drat and blast it! It’s not all bad though, as we are now the ‘proud’ new owners of a 'juicy' orange fridge, a Blackpool fridge my husband calls it. Please, please, let that ‘bad things come in threes’ thing be superstitious claptrap…
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