There was a time when clothes washing machines were so unreliable that you would not leave them working when leaving home. Then matters improved. Perhaps some design innovations cut in to stop overflowing water. We could then leave them to go about their rightful business and go shopping.
So it was, with some surprise, that I wandered into our kitchen one morning to find the tiles and part-carpeted floor covered in a layer of water. Our trusted washing machine, with many years of reliable use, had failed us.
The water was turned off and electricity disconnected.
The carpet was dragged to the garden to drain, the water level reduced with the deft use of dustpan and bucket, with the rougher technique employed by brushing water out and over the door sill with a broom. Then it was a case of laying down towels and rubbing them around under foot to sop up the remaining water.
That done, I worked out that either the drain from the machine had become blocked or some internal pipe connections had come adrift.
I emptied the water-filled drum through its drain filter. The drain appeared to be clear. I ran the machine, which continued to pump out water. A plumber had to be engaged.
We have an excellent plumber, if a bit rough and ready, who hales from the Lebanon. He dismantled the top of the machine to discover that a conduit of some sort deep inside had perished and parted from its seating.
After much fiddling we decided that was in our interest to replace the 25-year-old washing with a new one.
A few days later, our plumber appeared to prepare the way to dispose of the old and install the new machinery. The new one was delivered by his mate, another Lebanese who was keen to tell me that he only drank French wine. Château Margaux in particular. At least I didn't have to manhandle the white goods any more as the existing drying machine was lifted onto the new machine by the two strong Lebanese.
The plumbing was connected and a trial laundry of three butchers' aprons, used when we cook or eat on our knees, placed in the drum to be washed. We could at least relax after a tiring period of both body and mind.
As we had not yet read the instruction leaflet properly, about which buttons to press, this seemed to take a long time. When the cycle was over and we could extract the aprons, they were absolutely clean, though no washing powder had been used, but so tangled up that it took at least five minutes for us both to untangle them.
Much of the following day was taken up with taking all the mopping-up towels to the local laundrette and replacing all the bits and pieces that had been moved to facilitate the whole operation. Damp mats were restored to their rightful place to dry slowly indoors and in their place.
When a white wash was tried, having pressed the right buttons this time, all was well.
A dry house, where pipe water is directed to when and where wanted is much to be desired.
