APART from the most awful things in life, what particularly sets your stress levels rocketing?
After my red button was pressed twice in a week, I’ve no hesitation in declaring: like a werewolf under a full moon, I ging feel when something breaks doon. I can just about survive little inconveniences – like an ancient toaster giving up the ghost. But when it’s a major domestic disaster I’m in bits, phoning the world and his dog for a fixer.
Since divorces left me without a handyman aboot the place, did I teach masellie DIY? Did I heck. I gathered into my precious address book a hillock of names and numbers of every tradesman known to man: plumbers; electricians; joiners; computer buffs; and – I’m affa proud to say – a domestic appliance gadgie who’s twice fixed my ancient washing machine when I’d probably have bought two new ones.
Yet to conk oot is my (whisper it) dishwasher, which would deffo send me into a blue funk. Haven’t washed – or rinsed – a dish, cup or pan for nigh on half a century. Wouldn’t know how. And my aged Bosch, just boshes on and on. Herr B, ye fair ken how tae mak things last.
Break-doons left me in hysterics
Oh the horror break-doons I’ve had (me and the machine.) That Christmas Eve I was having a relative for two weeks. Due to collect her from the airport around 5pm, shot to Tesco late morning for a humungus fortnight’s family shop, stuffed into fridge/freezer, then noticed it was in darkness. Perfectly kaput. Silent even.
I pray those dastardly domestic gods leave me in peace for a pucklie weeks.
Jings, crivvens, help-ma-flaming-festiveness. Two tons of affa fineness going slowly mankie. In hysterics, I called my man. His solution: phone John Lewis to deliver a new one that afternoon. Oh aye? In a pucklie hours? Neep-heid. So through the Yellow Pages I found a suitable sounding mannie and he was with me in the hour. He just opened the door. Dug into his baggie. Replaced the lightbulb. Spik aboot a relieved gype.
Ringing up connection problems
When the breakdown is out of your control, there’s nothing you can do but sit and fret and check, like last week when my Wifi went down. Panic, panic, panic. Screech doon the phone at my kids. However, they were also Wifi-less thanks to a Sky outage in the Aberdeen area. Phew. Felt a taddy better knowing I wasn’t alone.
Then, Tuesday morning, a pal emailed she couldn’t get through on my phone. Sure enough, network Do-Do deid. Holy-Mo-ly, not again. Maybe a Tesco Mobile outage in Summerhill? Customer service message telling me to try later. Sod that.
At last I got through to a fine loon. No outage, just me wonky. Wizard that he was, he asked if liquid could have got into the SIM card. Yess! The night before I’d spilt a glass of water on the worksurface close to the phone being recharged. Natch I’ve have no clue how to remove a SIM, but when my quine did and dichted it doon, I was all systems go. Eeehaa.
I pray those dastardly domestic gods leave me in peace for a pucklie weeks.
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