Sunday, 10 June 2012

Washing bastard machines.

Some things in life are just sent along to try me.
By try me.. I mean beat me around the head until I'm a jibbering wreck ..
Of course this didn't happen, as I'm a rock hard Northern bird.

But trust me.. I'm coming close.

On May the 2nd (that's quite a long time ago now) .. My 7 month old washer died.. Just stopped working.. Full of shitty water and clothes, at a really inconvenient moment...
87 towels later I had scooped all the water out.. And rang the company to report it broken.

"no problem" said a polite lady on the phone... "we'll just swap it for a new one"

On the 8th of May (I've now been without a washer for 4 days) .. Two of the most miserable faced bastards ever to walk this earth turned up to collect the broken washer.

They moodily hurled it on to the back of a van and sped off in to the distance..

No replacement washer was brought.

I ring back to speak to the nice lady.. She has gone.. And has been replaced by Indian Dave..

Indian Dave hasn't a fucking clue what day it is.. Let alone what day my washer is arriving.. I hang up.

And wait.

And wait.



A full 24 days.. And 842 phone calls later .. A washer arrives!!

You can imagine my excitement as the miserable faced delivery man dumps it in the middle of my kitchen.. Has a shit in my downstairs toilet.. And hops back in is van.

I grab a knife and start ripping open the packaging.. Deciding what to wash first.. Overjoyed that I no longer have to drag bin bags of knickers and skiddy boxers down my garden to my neighbours anymore.

My excitement is short lived... As I discover that some boggle eyed arseclamp in the warehouse has dropped it .. Smashing the door to an attractive 90 degree angle.

I lie on the floor and sob.

It's a Friday..

A Friday afternoon.. Late afternoon.. Not any Friday.. JUBILEE BASTARD WEEKEND FRIDAY...

Indian Dave and his mates have long since abandoned the call centre phones.. And are probably pissed, face down in a coronation chicken sandwich.

At this point.. Softer people would cry.. Or kick the broken washer.. Have a bit of a tantrum.

I'm hard.

I rang my mum.

She took me to Comet and bought me a whole new washer.. (she was possibly concerned about my mental state.. As I'd been eyeing up knives and talking in an unusually high voice for the past hour)

Comet were FANTASTIC... The new washer was delivered and fully installed within 16 hours .. All singing all dancing 9kg drum washer WITH A 14 MINUTE QUICK WASH!

I was in love..

Down came curtains.. Duvets.. Coats.. EVERYTHING...

Anything not fastened down was washed to within an inch of its life.

It is now 6 days after that amazing day.

I've just worked a 14 hour shift on an acute stroke unit.. Whilst nursing day 2 of the worst hangover known to man.

I got home at 21.30 ... I set off at 06.00 am.. It's a long day is that.

So obviously I should wash my uniform..

I pop it in.. Bit of Daz.. Swish of Lenor.. Turn the fancy knob.. Select amazing wash cycle...

Press start...

And BANG...

Entire electric in the house trips off... The washer plug is welded to the socket...

I'm now sat in the cupboard under the stairs in the dark .. Rocking and sobbing...

It'll be fine though.... Right?... Because I'm hard...


  1. I'm scared *backs away from the Twinks*

  2. This has made me laugh. Very much. Belated apologies for the washer woes, but thanks for brightening my day.

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