Indesit Proposal

You might remember that our washer/dryer broke recently. It was in all the papers. There was an inquiry. Laundry was lost. Lives were changed.

We got it replaced quite quickly. And for a while, everything was going swimmingly. Clothes-swimmingly.

But yesterday, there was an emergency.

I use the term emergency loosely. Very loosely . I always have.

"Toast's ready." EMERGENCY

"Pen lid's on the wrong end." EMERGENCY

"The fire brigade are Communists" EMERGENCY

"LEAF! LEAF!" EMERGENCY

Our replacement washer/dryer wasn't correctly installed. Or maybe it was, but it shook itself loose from its moorings. The water outflow (is that a real term - outflow?) pipe came loose, and so water came cascading into the cupboard under the sink. There was a veritable tidal wave of soapy water spewing out of the cupboard all over the kitchen floor.

Everything got soaked. Empty cardboard washing powder boxes were drenched. We had literally four empty boxes, which should have been thrown away by now. Perhaps it was a message from God to throw things away more frequently. Like a small-scale Noah experiment.

It was all grimy, and had to be cleared up with towels.

Which, to be honest, wasn't that difficult. It wasn't a huge disaster. But was still a bit more drama than I would have liked on a Good Friday.

If it was Bad Friday, sure. That's to be expected. Bad Friday is all stubbed toes and washer/dryer accidents. And second rate Messiahs not being killed, but dying three days later after being crushed by a giant rock.

That's how it works.

So after the dust (water) had settled, and the smoke (water) had cleared, we set about solving the problem. At first we just reinserted the pipe, but it kept yanking itself free. We needed duct tape, but none was available. Lucy cleverly tied it in place with a shoelace, like some crazy aquatic MacGyver.

We hoped it had worked, but couldn't be sure. So we put on a wash. (Included in the load was one of the sodden clean-up towels - rewarded for its sacrifice with a baptism of suds).

I sat and watched the whole washing cycle. It took ages. The sun was shining in my eyes.

Lucy came to join me. We were both poised; alert as Marines (Sudmarines), facing the possibility of a repeat flooding. We were vigilant.

Now, whenever WWII veterans blab on about D-Day, I can tell them that I've experienced worse. And then get justifiably punched.

With every rotation of the drum; every draining of the dregs; every switch from wash, to rinse, to spin; we were poised.

Time passes slowly when you're staring down the spinning barrel of a gun, especially if it's got pants in it.

The washing cycle is mesmerising. It spins erratically. The clothes flop about like fainting débutantes, soap rises and swells like snow, patterns are cast on the porthole; ominous portents of possible futures.

We were staring into our own future. It was obvious, as Indesit is an anagram of Destini.

Coincidence? Rhetorical?

You bet.

Anyway, in the end it was all OK. The pipe held fast. Nothing got flooded. The clothes were washed, then dried. And more loads have followed.

It was quite the adventure.

But we won't get complacent. We know that at any time, for the smallest of reasons, that shoelace might break loose and we could face another frothy tsunami. We'll buy some duct tape. Oh yes. As sure as we'll regularly throw away old washing powder boxes.

It was a bonding experience though. Lucy and I had a couple of frosty beers (water), and reminisced about how we had become men. Except Lucy. She's still a woman. Just a wetter one.

Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

And it's nice to have clean, fluffy towels. Isn't it, Wilfred?