We had one of those electrical fellas around yesterday.
I mentioned before how we had been having a little problem with fuses blowing all over the shop, so I thought it was time to let someone else have a look at the wiring.
When I first helped wire this house back in the 60s, life was relatively simple. All you needed beside a bed was a single socket for a bedside lamp, as alarm clocks were all clockwork. Now you need a fucking power station beside each bed to power the bedside lamp, the alarm clock, the vibrator mobile phone charger and fifty other fucking annoying things. And that is a simple example. My little office needs about five hundred sockets for all the shit that goes on in there such as printers, broadband, phone, ‘puter, radio and a moxy load of other yokes.
You get the drift?
Over the years I have had to adapt the house wiring slightly.
The bloke yesterday had a look at the wiring and immediately told us to move out of the house. He claimed that The Manor is in imminent danger of bursting into flames. Personally I think he has just been following the Priory Hall story a bit too closely. Fucking drama queen!
Anyhows, I asked him what the panic was and he pointed at one of my extensions and screamed something about bell-wire not being suitable for power. I pointed out that it provided a nice bit of background heat whenever something was plugged in. He wasn’t impressed. I don’t know why as surely wall heating is better than under-floor heating as the cables don’t get walked on?
He carried on around the house muttering to himself about amateurs, which was a bit fucking rude. I pointed out to him that I had probably forgotten more about electricity than he had ever learned. He replied that that was probably part of the problem. Cheeky fucker.
He reckons there is a lot of work to be done, and this means that I will probably have no electrification for the next while. Bang goes my broadband and my cuppa tea.
Personally I think it would be a lot simpler just to bypass the fuse board.