… not only a washing machine but an installed washing machine and a working washing machine too.
And also a pile of clean clothes.
Terry and Liz came round this morning and Terry helped me carry it up the stairs into here. We plugged it in and connected up the water, and Robert is your father’s brother.
Last night was a better night. Still not as good as I would like but an improvement on just recently. And it must have been good too because I was away with the fairies for quite a while.
I was living in a commune type of place with loads of people whom I knew – it was round about the station approach in Sandbach somewhere. And at bedtime we all clambered into a variety of big beds – half a dozen or so to each bed. I was lucky in that in my bed everyone else was a female, including Miss Norgain, the lesbian headmistress of Crewe Girls Grammar School. This all worked fine until one of my bed mates started to become very … err … frisky. Not that I minded of course, but I did wonder what Miss Norgain would have to say about it.
Later on, I was taking the short cut into Crewe. For those of you who don’t know the approach into Crewe from the south, it’s rather tortuous around the Gresty area but there is a shortcut down an ancient bridleway that passes under the railway lines by a bridge known locally as “the mucky bridge” for reasons that are self-evident to anyone who tries to take that lane in the wet. So off I went, but instead of being the lane that I have used on many occasions, it became that mountain pass over which we have climbed or skied on many a nocturnal ramble and which regular readers of this rubbish will recall. But halfway down there my way was blocked by a huge shiny metal fence that had been erected right across the pathway. There was a house and office right by the gate and so I enquired. I had to waith in there until the other two or three customers ahead of me were dealt with and had left the room and then I enquired of the woman there to find out what was going on. She replied that they had bought all of the land and had fenced it off, as was their right now that they owned it. I explained that you can’t simply close or fence off a public footpath – a whole process needs to be undertaken and consent is rarely given, but she told me to take it up with the council. I wasn’t allowed to phone but a young girl was, so she relayed the message for me. It had been 20 years since I’d been to Crewe and things hadn’t changed there. The solicitor of Crewe and Nantwich Borough Council (with whom I had many a tangle back in the old days) was doing his best to fob off this girl with meaningless statements and so I told her to tell him that it was Mr Hall who was enquiring. And so she did. You could actually hear the conversation come to a dead stop – if you want to know the meaning of a “pregnant pause” there wouldn’t be any better way of describing it than this – and after about 10 seconds I could hear an “ohhh – Mr Hall. I remember him!” which of course, he most certainly would.
After breakfast I carried on updating the blog and then went out for my baguette. My return saw me start to arrange things around ready for the washing machine, and I’ve still no idea where I’m going to put everything.
We had the machine installed quite rapidly and then drilled holes in the granite to fit the supports for the curtain rails – Terry had remembered to bring his big drill.
As a reward I took everyone off to the bar in the square down the road for a coffee and we stayed there to chat.
The subject of lunch came up, so I nipped to the magasin de presse next door to the bar for another baguette and we came back to make a huge salad. Good job that I bought that sweetcorn yesterday, wasn’t it?
To walk off our lunch we went for a good long stroll around the city walls and then they went home. A job well done.
Standing for a while in the damp hadn’t done the washing machine too much good so I ended up dismantling it and giving it a really good clean as best as I could. And then I set it to work.
I’d been warned about the noise that it makes, which may well be worn bearings, so they reckon. But it made no noise that would cause me any concern. Mind you, I reckon that the bits of metal, screwdriver bits, coins and washers that I retrieved from the innards might be some kind of explanation for all of that.
And so what if it only works on one programme? How many do you need when you are a man?
For tea, I finished off the rest of the salad with a veggie burger and now I’m ready for anything.
Probably bed.
