Thursday, 23 August 2007

It never rains unless you’ve just hung out your washing

It dawned bright and beautiful this morning, and I sent blessings to the cotton socks of everyone at the Met office, who seldom get the weather forecast right, but at least this time they’d promised rain and instead we’d been granted glorious sunshine.

We’ve been labouring under low cloud and very chilly ‘lazy’ winds (those that don’t bother to go around you, but just go right through you) for the last few days, so I took this golden opportunity to do some laundry.

I have one of those nifty eco-friendly washing machines that use a thimbleful of water and a nanowatt (or whatever) of electricity, but do take their toll in time: almost two hours for each load.

I started early, and by 11am had two batches of lovely clean fresh-smelling washing hanging on the line.

And at 11.05am a gargantuan cloud snuck in over my house and opened its bottom. And it's been pissing since. (My heartfelt apologies to the Met office.)

This falls into the same category as:
* The phone that never rings unless you’ve just settled down on the loo with a magazine.
* The stove that works perfectly until you have 12 people coming for dinner.
* The geyser that only ever bursts in the middle of winter; similarly, the electricity that inevitably fails at 6pm at the end of a cold, hard day when all you want is to cook a heartwarming meal of comfort food.
* The water mains that are unexpectedly switched off at noon on a swelteringly hot day in the middle of summer.
* The person who knocks on the door the second you sink slowly and luxuriously into a deep, bubbly bath.
* The recent ex you run into when you’ve just rushed up to the café in your tracksuit and curlers (or the nearest hideous equivalent) to pick up some milk and bread.
* The article that you desperately need right this minute, and is the one in the newspaper you used this morning to light the fire /line the cat-litter tray/wrap the fish-heads in.
* The website you urgently require access to and is the only one not available at the moment.
* The keys you need which are the only ones not hanging on the key rack. (Where, oh where, do all those missing keys go?)
* The email you erroneously send to the wrong address, which goes to the person about whom you have gossiped viciously in said email.
* The document you’ve held on to for five years and have finally decided you will never need and thus throw away, and within a week is the very document that is urgently required for something vital.
* The thing you throw away which you only realise you desperately need as you hear the municipal garbage truck making its way off down the street.

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4 comments:

Juno said...

Brilliant, Mur! Here are some more:

-The gossipy bitchfest you have with a friend, and the horror when you realise that you're sitting on your cell phone and have made a live butt-call to the very person you're skinnering about

-The lively chugging of the second-last bottle of wine ('Oh, come on, have a little more!) and the horror when you realise it's actually the last bottle. Ditto cigarettes.

- The endless list-making and ticking off while packing for a holiday in a remote place, only to arrive at your destination to find you've left a) your spectacles b) your prescription medicines and c) your cell-phone recharger at home.

Muriel said...

Thanks Juno! Here's something similar I did recently. I sorted all the piles of paper (and there are a lot) in my study into 'Urgent: To Do' and 'Rubbish: To Throw Away'. In the 'Urgent' pile were things like my son's passport-application receipt, my tax documents, several important bills, a few dear letters, etc. It was only days later, when I needed to sort through the 'Urgent' pile (which, erm, does speak to how 'urgent' I consider 'Urgent')to find something vital, that I realised... yes, that I'd THROWN AWAY the 'Urgent' pile and carefully stacked the 'Rubbish' pile on my desk. And at that moment, I heard the garbage truck roar off down the road... (This is a true story!)

angel said...

you are so right- hence my cupboard full of paperwork that i’m afraid to shred in case someone asks me for it… and three weeks worth of laundry waiting to be done…

meggie said...

Your kids finally leave home, you hand over all the birth certificates details of kith & kin long dead which you always seem to need so you can be identified beyond fraud.
You breathe a sigh of relief! You can relax, it is no longer your problem.
Only to have them hammering on your door... they have lost the papers! 5 minutes after you handed them over. You are expected to know how to go about getting replacements, ...immediately.
Joys to come, for you!