sods law

If you read my previous entry entitled Bodge it Yourself (if not, do look it up) you will know how hard I worked to remove my washing machine from my old house.

It made it to the new house.

I plumbed it in, despite the waste outlet pipe under my new sink looking disticntly odd. The removal man who helped me said this was ‘how most pipes looked these days’. How old did I feel?

I did a test run. And in the drainage section of the cycle my machine stated to make horrible sort of ‘I am trying, I really am trying….but getting no where’ noises.

The drainage pump was defunct. I had had sporadic issues with this at my old abode. Which I had ignored, adopting my ‘head in the sand’ approach to disaster management.

Because that is what being without a washer is in my house, a disaster.  My new home was already a complete box bombsite. The thought of a laundry mountain added to that made me shudder.

I ordered a new machine on line. I had no emotional energy left to try to organise an engineer. The old machine had done six years which in my house seems par for the course.

In the meantime an exceptionally good friend took in my laundry. I delivered it to her, or she occasionally picked it up from me, such service, and it came back dry and folded. Bliss.

My new machine arrived at tea time on the following Thursday and was fitted and tested by my delivery men. I had to run a two hour dummy cycle to unlock the spin system and open some ball valve or other. (Germans- such control freaks). That wait felt like agony.

I put in my first lot of clothing; pants and socks… We generate an unbelievable quantity of smalls. That went on the maiden airer. I put in a second load and set the timer so it would finish just as I arose the next day.

And I awoke to rain, the first in weeks.

And all this my friends, is the definition of Sod’s Law….