Why I Never Do Housework: Reason #473

Oh hell and damn nation. Hot on the heels of our major electrical fault just one week ago, me and Mr G this morning uncovered a new problem chez nous.

Since we have some visitors popping round this weekend, we thought it only polite to clean up a little bit. When you start leaving footprints in the dust, you know it is time to locate Henry the Hoover.

I was quite merrily Ecover-ing down the cupboards in the kitchen and singing along to a bit of Rihanna when Mr G came in and declared that, having lived here for three years, perhaps we should attempt to lift the washing machine onto the blocks it was always supposed to be on, so that we could actually put the plinths down under the kitchen units. The thought process behind this being that it may one day inspire us to lay an actual floor - going by the current work rate, in about 5 years' time.

So, down on my hands and knees, I removed the carrier-bag barricade (originally installed to prevent the dog from eating the mouse poison laid down under the sink) and promptly heard a familiar, desperate, expiration of breath coming from Mr G. I knew what this meant, and it wasn't good.

"What now?!" I dared ask.

"Brilliant. A massive leak" came the answer.

I peered under the sink, positioned between the washing machine and dishwasher. Running the length of the two appliances were soaked, rotting, mushroom-covered floorboards, overlooked by a black (formerly white), mould-covered rear wall.

"Excellent!" I declared, choking. Mr G rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head.

"What?!" I coughed. "I'm surprised it hasn't killed us! Mould spores are really dangerous! Don't you remember that episode of CSI?" I asked.

And then I did what experience tells me is best in these situations...

Sent Skipper a picture message with a :( and am currently pretending none of this has happened until the inevitable phone call:

"Alright love, what's that?"
"A massive leak from behind the dishwasher Dad!"
"Well it shouldn't be!"

Welcome Home.... Weeeelllllcome....

I forgot to mention that when we got home yesterday, me and Mr G discovered that all our downstairs electrics had gone off. In a state of total bewilderment, I phoned Skip. The Mothership answered and laughed when I told her what was happening. As she passed the phone over to Skipper, I heard him huffing and puffing in the background; "How can her electrics have gone off?" - This is Skip's alternative response to "Well, they shouldn't have!".

Dad, I literally have no idea. 1) I'm not an electrician. 2) I'm a girl. 3) Just get over here and sort my life out!


Several of my friends rather sweetly, and I have to say naively, thought a fuse had just blown. I did find myself wondering where they had been for the past three years since we bought this absolute money pit of a house as I fail to see how they could have avoided hearing me wang on about the various disasters we have encountered. Oh no, of course it was nothing as simple as a blown fuse...

No no... A floorboard has been quietly rotting in our sloping hallway (possibly as a result of the botched roofing job we had done by a cowboy builder which left us with a massive leak that was cannot afford to get fixed and are unable to claim from our insurance) and over time this has meant walking down the hallway has  gradually pushed down on the wiring beneath the floorboards and somehow a nail from the floorboard has ended up pushing through into the main wire that hooks up to the electric thing that powers all of our downstairs sockets.

Mr G said he could have cried when we first realised we were faced with yet another drama, and I must admit that even my blitz spirit is fading fast. After three years of disasters I have now lost sight of the vision we once had for this lovely little house.

Thank God Skipper was able to patch up the latest problem for now.
Right, I'm off out for that coffee. And checking my Euromillions ticket on the way. Wish me luck...