I was having a quiet doze yesterday afternoon.
One of the great joys of retirement is that my time is my own and if it's pissing rain outside [which it was] I don't have to go out or do anything.
Anyhows, I was dozing, as I said. I had put the washing machine on and it was thrumming away quietly in the kitchen and wouldn't have to be emptied for an hour or so, so a doze seemed like an excellent idea.
I was in that sort of half sleep zone that is very pleasant when Herself entered the kitchen. She let a mighty shriek out of her and yelled at me that I wasn't minding the washing machine. It's a silly notion, I know but I always assumed that "automatic" meant that it didn't need to be minded. I went to see what the fuck she was on about.
The first thing I saw was the suds. It was a big pile of suds that bore a remarkable resemblance to an iceberg, and this berg was sailing very slowly across a large lake on the kitchen floor and heading towards the garage door. I didn't realise there was a slight slope on the floor but apparently there is, and the berg was making the most of it.
So the fucking washing machine had broken. Again.
I switched off the cycle and emptied the machine. Time to check the filter.
I presume most of you are familiar with washing machines? They have a little filter to stop coins and shit entering the pump, and the filter is usually to be found on the front of the machine at floor level where it can easily be checked and cleaned.
Not on my machine.
For some reason that utterly baffles me and probably even baffled the idiot who designed it, my filter is right in the guts of the machine near the back. It means the whole fucking machine has to be pulled out, the back removed and then a painful delve in between pipes, brackets, machinery and other assorted nuisances to try to prise the hose of the pump because the filter is part of the pump.
My kitchen is well made. The bloke who built it believed in accuracy and it is a joy to behold. However, because of said accuracy the washing machine slides under the counter with a fraction of a millimeter to spare on each side. Removing the machine is not easy.
I finally got it out. I removed the back. I found the hose that has to be disconnected and of course it is sealed with a sort of ratchet clip that has to be forced off. I forced it off and about ten gallons of very hot soapy water promptly joined the lake on the floor. The tsunami it caused at least washed the suds/iceberg out the garage door.
I was in the process of cleaning the filter [which was, incidentally totally blocked with a sticky mass of of something, a few hairclips or safety pins and abut 65 cents in small change] when the groceries arrived.
The bloke who delivers the groceries comes into the kitchen through the garage so naturally he has to face the flood. Before I could warn him, he waded through the lake that had accumulated in the garage and skidded across the soapy wet floor before ending on his arse. Twat! I had to bribe him with a tenner so he wouldn't sue me, though it was worth it to see the look on his face as he did his ice-skater impression.
Eventually I reassembled the pump and the back of the machine. I mopped the floor as it was deep in water, soap, mud and blood at this stage. I then went to slide the machine into its slot under the counter. Would it fit? Would it fuck!
There is a slight unevenness in the floor boards under the counter. It's miniscule but it's enough to stop the machine [which weighs a ton] from sliding in. I can't lift the machine over the unevenness because there's no wiggle room. I left the machine so it's now protruding out and invading the kitchen floor space.
Today I have to try to re-lay that bit of flooring in the hole where the washing machine is supposed to go. It's going to be messy and painful, as these jobs invariably are.
And I'm €9.35 out of pocket.