Washing machine

No, I don't have a special name for my washing machine. I don't have a pet name for God either. They both get things done in mysterious ways.

I don't know if God goes on holiday and that's when the devil gets moving and shaking and the tsunamis roll. Maybe God is at the Olympics right now and the devil is rocking on down in Georgia. I don't see redemption and salvation in Osetia on my news channel.

I do know that my washing machine got appendicitis. It did. You get washing machine appendicitis when you swallow socks into the wrong places. It doesn't have a Latin name this illness because washing machines weren't invented back when learned people spoke mostly in Latin. It's just ordinary washing machine appendicitis. Expensive dicky tummy as an alternative.

So now I know how to check the filter on my washing machine. Front loader you see. That's what greenie types who hung out too long in the UK like. If you haven't considered your washing machine type, then you don't wash enough and you don't have children. Go back to sleep. There will be someone more urbane on soon. Perhaps a metrosexual type for you non-school lunch makers in the audience.

I also know that the washing machine filter is not filter enough. There are some people at Ellerys who now know a lot about my washing machine. I imagine it's a bit like having a caesarian. Lots of women give birth without stomach lining being inspected but if you give birth enough times or have other deep and dark complications, the doctors will see your stomach lining. They'll cut it up no less.

So now we have the washing machine back. We also have a wee plastic packet of slimey mouldering socks. They don't live on top of the pressure switch any more. So now I know that washing machines have pressure switches. I have a pressure switch too. You'll know about it if you press on it when the school lunches haven't been made and the baby poos and the reading folder is nowhere to be found and my big boy announces he wants to wear a clown suit to school and you work for Expertly Irritating Market Research Consultants and you ring me. Just fifteen minutes you say confidently. Off your life expectancy or mine?

My washing machine is occasionally expensive and mostly very obliging. I shall henceforth think of it as my wife.