Life is like a box of ....... soap powder

Life is like a box of chocolates – so said Forest Gump. But Mine is more like a box of soap powder, I feel as though I’m living in a Soap Opera. Not one of these moderns ones with Sex, Lesbians and “issues that may have affected you” you understand, just a “gritty Northern drama.”

My experiences of the last 24 hours for example have elements of drama, tragedy and comedy, the perfect ingredients for say, and episode of Heartbeat, but without the whodunit or an obvious plotline where Claude almost but not quite gets arrested.

The scene starts with a wintry day at work – five or six inches of snow have fallen back home and wife calls to advise me of this and that if I can’t get through she has arranged that I can stay with the in laws on the outskirts of the city rather than battle through 13 miles of snowbound roads with stupid people driving at 20 miles per hour because they are frightened of a little snow. I point out that I don’t have my pyjamas with me. She counterpoints that I don’t wear them at home. I suggest that I ought to have them whilst at the in laws and suggest she takes them to Preston for me. She declines saying that the roads are too bad. Huh- women.

Regardless of her doubting my driving God status I drive home without mishap anyway – the Black Knight Always Triumphs! So far so good, a little comedic light relief.

Now DRAMA! For no apparent reason, Thomas, 7 years, falls off his chair at the dinner table. Part contortionist, part Stan Laurel he somehow manages to get his bare foot under the chair as it falls with the edge of the back section (are you following this?) landing heavily across his foot, and incredibly at the same time manages to out his full bodyweight back onto the falling chair. After a quick check I was pretty certain nothing was broken, and as we get a new dining suite at Christmas I wasn’t too worried. But I wasn’t so sure about his foot, there are a lot of little bones in those little feet. So it was off for an evening of entertainment courtesy of the casualty department. In a new world record we were actually seen by a triage nurse within 5 minutes of arrival, thus the NHS trust was able to claim they had achieved targets. Almost four hours later the doctor examined him and declared the all clear, with just some severe bruising. So a 24 mile round trip through artic weather conditions for nothing. Thanks Thomas. And to cap it all I was almost defeated I getting my car into the garage, a lack of grip looked like forcing it to stay outside overnight, but some old carpet came to the rescue (a little trick granddad would have approved of) and the car was put to bed smug and warm.

And then the ungrateful bastard failed to start the next morning. Failed to start is an exaggeration actually. It failed to attempt to start the battery was as flat as a weak old Shandy, and the engine just gave that ominous dead click. Attaching my boost starter resulted in the engine turning slowly with an assortment of horrendous rattles which caused me some consternation. Please Gods, let the cam belt be okay – I only had it changed 6000 miles ago. I took off the oil filler cap to see if the engine was all turning over, and not just the bottom end – and promptly dropped the oil filler cap down the front of the engine behind the radiator and just out of reach on top of the under tray. “Hucking Fell” I cursed to myself. (this ought to be a moorland walk, but probably isn’t, I suspect it is a Spoonerism) So now I had a flat battery and no oil cap.

A quick search around the junk on my garage and a moment or two later a makeshift cap was fabricated out of an old seatbelt adjustment winder and some Duct tape. (Duct tape – an approved engineering solution and like the force in Star Wars – it has a light side, a dark side and holds the Universe together) Now for some jumps leads and a quick start off Jennys Honda. Done, engine started and oooeeer missus, warning light Bingo – a full line and then some, with error codes pinging off my Kiwi like there is no tomorrow (there may not be, who knows for sure) Then just as thing seemed to settle down the headlights started flashing and the radio was coming on and off all on it’s own. Had a rock n Roll song been on the radio I’d have been quite happy the car would have fixed itself in the style of Christine, but as it was some modern crap I knew there was something seriously wrong. Rather than face a breakdown on the road I decided to let the car idle a while to see what happened, and what happened within about 2 minutes is that it ran out of electricity all together and died.

At this point I realised I would not bee driving to work and sensibly phoned in to arrange time off. (The idea of ringing in sick didn’t even enter my head – I’m just too honest or stupid for that) I could have probably claimed to have been snowed in, there was snow outside after all, and technically speaking I couldn’t get my car through the snow, just that it wasn’t the depth of the snow that was the problem, just the car “failing to proceed.”

At nine I rang my local parts guy to price up a Battery (about £60) but having described what was wrong he suggested I bring the car in as he could check if it was the battery or the alternator at fault. For the first time ever I was praying it was just a battery problem – I had seen where the alternator was and didn’t relish the idea of trying to change it. A quick jump start after a couple of hours to oput some life in the battery and it was off to Hedon in daylight – no lights, no signalling no radio or heater – nothing to use up that precious electricity. I left it running and had the checks done only to get the worse news. The alternator was not alternating. Nothing for it but to head back home and get the local spanner monkey to fit a new one.

3 miles short of the garage disaster and drama struck again as I ran out of electricity. Fortunately, this car has Mayday cover as it is the car used for the caravan towing duties, and Willinghams were dispatched for a free recovery. Despite being told I had run out of electrickery they sent a service van instead of a tow truck, as they thought a jump start would get me going again. No such luck, but a battery pack connected with a “heath Robinson” cable through the cigarette lighter (and held together with duct tape!) The car was dropped off at the garage and I walked the last ¾ mile or so home to find no tyre tracks leaving Jenny’s side of the garage. Odd, she should have gone to work by then. Maybe the school had closed due to the weather. So in I went, made a pot of tea for her and took it up to her office to surprise her. Well surprise to me – she wasn’t home. Surely she hadn’t had a problem with her car? And the roads weren’t that bad – aha – I guessed she had been cancelled from work due to the schools closing, and had gone to our school to collect the kids as that one was closing too. After waiting a few minuites I realised that couldn’t be the case either – she’d be back by now. After several failed efforts I finally got her on her mobile – at work. Why had she walked – the main roads were clear, and she doesn’t normally relish a walk more than a mile or so – it’s about 4 down to Burstwick, and that’s cross country in thick snow. Well it seems she believed I had taken her car, and as I wasn’t back and tiem was creeping on she had walked. She hadn’t even checked the garage!

On the positive side, as my car remains at Boyes Lane my side of the garage is empty tonight so at least I have somewhere to sleep.

Saving water - How exactly?

I recently received a pack fromt he local water supplier which claims will help me save water. This is a good thing. Reduce, reuse, recycle, right?
I already have those toilets with the dual flush system, a short flush for when you've just had a pee and a longer flush when you've doen soemthign more solid. I can also understand how a restricter reducers the flow in the shower thus using less water.
But there were a couple of items that I just can't get to grips with. One is a sort of gel pack that goes in the toilet systern to take up space which would otherwise be filled with water, thus reducing the amount of water that is flushed. Great except that I already have modern low level systerns with almost no water in them anyway. If I stick one of these little baggies in there'll be nothing left to flush with and it'll jam the operating mechanism. I might as well just spit in the pan instead.
Next is a gizmo that goes in the end of the tap. This sort of aerates the water, which is great as it makes ordinary drinks taste fizzy, albeit for a very short while. By introducing air into the water this reduces the volume of water flowing through the tap, thus saving water. Huh? How does that workl? If I have a 2 litre kettle to fill I need 2 litres of water. Adding air to it just means it takes me longer to fill the bloody kettle. This does not save water it just means it takes longer to fill the kettl;e.
Even more frustrating is the energy saving boiler I fitted. I used to have a tank full of hot (or warm at least) water available on demand. Now I have a combi boiler which theoretically gives me hot water on demand - except you have to run the tap for about three minutes before it gets warm - or even longer now that the air has been introduced into the equation. So, by trying to save water I am wasting water - and time. If this is green something has gone wrong somewhere.
What the water company should have provided me, free of charge, is a solar water heater, so that the water going to the boiler is preheated thus eliminating the waste water, AND reducing the fossil fuel required to heat it up - a solar heater raisng it by only a few degrees would make a huge difference to the fuel bill.
So get your act together Yorkshire water.

I don't understand my wife

Yes, the above is true. Rather than my wife doesn't undertstand me, I have coem to accept that the reverse is true. I am well known for my plain speaking. I call a spade a spade. Some call it a manual digging implement. I call it a spade. A black man is a black man. He is not coloured, nor is he a native African - particularly if it turns out he was born in Romford. I strive to make my meaning clear. And simple.

This makes it difficult living with a woman, my wife in particular, because although she speaks English she uses codes all the time. Thsi would not present a problem if I understood the code, as I speak in various coides all day at work, but her code is different, and the meaning changes from one day to another. Allow me to erudicate further;

An example. If a man were to ask "What do you have planned for Friday?" this woudl be a simple social enquiry as to what you have planned for Friday. An answer would be given, such as "I thought we might have a barbeque and maybe watch a DVD afterwards." If this conversation was between two men, the topic would then be closed. Both would understand that a barbeque woudl happen, followed by a DVD. Not so with women. If a woman asks "What do you have planned for Friday?" this means "I have planned something for Friday so whatever you thought you were doing cancel it." The topic is not open for discusssion - the decision has been made. So whatever answer you give is irrelevent, because you will then be told what you will be doing. As in, "Oh, well I thought we could go out for a meal and meet with X and Y afterwards" (X being her best friend and Y being her best friends boyfriend/partner, who according to her logic you will get on with like a house on fire, even though he/she is duller than a week in Putney)

At least in that situation you are told what will be occuring. Much more cryptic is the opening gambit "I need to go shopping tommorow." Setting aside the whole issue of want and need which women are incapable of differentiating, this is simply a statement. She wants to go shopping, and the time she wants to go shopping is tommorow. It is not that simple though. In her world the message is clear. She wants to go shopping, with you, you will drive and carry all the bags, and the credit card which will be used will be yours. But it's not that simple either, because that's what it meant last week. This week it means she wants to go shopping with her friends, and that you are required to stay home and look after the kids. Even if she choses to let slip some further information it will be implied, and disguised as a question. "What time do the shops open on Sundays?" Aha, I can help with that one, with my in depth man-knowledge of Sunday trading hours. 10 until 4. But this in her mind means that I have now agreed to dedicate the whole of that period from 10 a.m. until 4 p.m. to shopping (or looking after the kids) My interpretation however is that at some point during that six hour period she will wish to visit one or more shops. I await further information but none comes.
If a man were deleivring this information he would say simply and in a straightforward manner - "I'm going to the shops tommorow, at ten o'clock. You can come if you like, bring the kids with us. I'll drive." Actually no he wouldn't because a) he would take it as read that she would expect him to drive, and b) unless he was a gay man he wouldn't volunteer to go to the shops, but the theory stands.
In short I think what I'm trying to say is that women need to speak more clearly and tell us what they want. My car needs washing is a statement. I understand the car is dirty. I do not know if you intend to clean it, if you want me to do it, if you are just making conversation or if you want to buy a new one. "Will you wash my car?" is five simply words and will achieve the result you are looking for. I know what is required of me. No need for please or thank you, just say what you want and it will happen. Just don't be so bloody English about it.