One of our washing machines is missing…

Well not exactly missing, one of my washing machines has broken.

Yes, one of them, I have two; one at home and the other is at my little cottage in Wales.

It’s my washing machine in Wales that has broken. Well, when I say my washing machine, I should probably say Gaynor’s - after all it can hardly be mine as I don’t know how to use it. Well, it has twenty programs and slots for washing powder AND that conditioner stuff that smells like freshly washed linen (!!!), and I always want to open the door too soon, and I’m not really sure how to empty it properly. Actually, I don’t know how to use either, or for that matter how many sugars I take in my tea! Just joking about the sugars – I’m pretty sure that it’s three. I’ll check with Gaynor to be sure though.

Anyway, back to the broken washing machine. It broke a few weeks ago and every time it’s turned on it fuses the electricity. It must be shorting or jumping or some such thing (well, I’m not Nikola Tesla am I!) In the normal run of things I might try to get it repaired, but then we are dealing with Wales and North Wales at that, darkest, deepest North Wales and the Llyn Peninsula no less. Tradesmen are hard to come by on the Llynnnnnn and when you do come by them they seem to be very busy walking away from you – fast. And even when you do, by some miracle, trick them into answering their phone you usually find that it’s their dad/son/uncle you need to be talking to and he’ll ring you back as he’s out on a call… or they pretend to talk to you in Welsh… or you have the right person but he doesn’t do washing machines despite his card saying “all makes of washing machines repaired… or you are out of the area: ME - “But you only live six miles away.” HIM - “Yes, outside the area, I don’t do the travel you see.” – or you ring him only to find that he’s dead… “Yes, I’m sorry, I’m dead you see. Died last Wednesday, funeral’s Tuesday, no flowers – it’s Chapel you see.”

North Wales… I ask you! I once asked a plumber I accosted in the High Street to come and fix the toilet in our caravan. I knew he was a plumber because it said so on his van, he was even a “caravan plumbing specialist” according to his business card. He said that he was going to come around in the afternoon… of course he didn’t say which afternoon - it’s a good job that we only use the caravan for storage. He’ll be around eventually I guess – unless he’s dead, he's his own dad/son/or uncle, or we’ve become outside the area by some change of plumbing area boundaries.

Of course there is always an upside, and the upside of the broken washing machine being in Wales is that Wales is in the countryside, well most of it is, certainly our part, and the countryside has streams. Now to my mind having a stream nearby should negate the need for a washing machine, a few rocks, a bar of soap, and some good old-fashioned elbow grease… but of course Gaynor doesn’t seem to agree. I don’t know… how these mod-cons do so seem to spoil a woman.

So a new washing machine it is then. Shouldn’t be too hard, there’s only one shop in the area; “Which one would you like madam, the one on the left or the one on your right? Yes, they are the same, but we like to give our customer’s choice.”

Oh well, the couple that won the lottery this week had just had their washing machine break, so who knows… maybe lightening will strike twice.

What do you think Mr Tesla?