Down To Earth With A Splash #part two - Let There Be Lights

The only image I have of the kitchen (2013)

It would be best to look at yesterday’s blog before reading this one.

When I got home from the Coven late Sunday evening the top of the cupboards had been wiped down and all the stuff put back in “very nearly the same place.”

Naturally neither Fester not Thunderthighs had thought to clean the tiles on the wall behind while up there; but of course I hadn’t left instructions about that and domestic initiative is entirely lacking.

The spotlight track was still sparking.

“Did your father use the hairdryer on it?”

“We both did, a couple of times” said Thunderthighs.

“How long for?”

There was no reply.

A little black patch appeared on the metal spotlight track along with the sparkles and, if the lights were on long enough, there would be an occasional CRACK and little puff of smoke.

“It’ll be fine” says Fester “it’s just drying out.”

The black patch kept creeping along the track and by Thursday morning, knowing I was going away to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne for the weekend, I could stand it no longer and emailed Will Fixit.

Hi Will

Last Thursday I had a lovely night out at LDNE and came home to find bath water pouring through the kitchen ceiling and Thunderthighs trying to brush it out of the back door.

I could write more but haven't the strength.

The cork floor tiles are coming up in the loo (helped by Ferretfingers aka Destructoboy)

And, despite Fester and Thunderthighs’ attempts to dry it out with a hairdryer while I was away this weekend, the light fitting in the kitchen keeps arcing, sparking and occasionally sending out a puff of smoke.

Could you advise on an electrician?

And a floorer?  The loo is a little but bloody awkward job, and I need the kitchen looking at too. 

I'm not expecting you to do it because of your hips etc, but you know more tradesmen than me.

Plodding on

Ben

Will phoned within minutes of reading the email and came around at lunchtime.

We turned on the kitchen lights and stood looking at them while the track sparkled, blackened and crackled.

“I thought I might be able to take it down and dry off the back” he said after one spectacularly loud arc “but we’ve got to face it: it’s knackered.”

“Well it was here when Phil and I moved in in April 1987 so it owes us nowt.”

“Let’s have a look at the Screwfix website and see if there’s anything suitable.”

There was, and I now have a Screwfix account as it was easier to have it sent to me as mine was the billing address.

I made sure that there would be someone in when it was delivered on Friday and told Fester Will would come on Saturday to Fixit.

“But what if I’m out with Ferretfingers…”

“Will Fixit has a key” I said between gritted teeth.

I left in time to reach the Causeway a good hour before the 12.30 end of safe crossing time.

Three nights and days on Holy Island in the good company of Pearl and female friends, Holy Communion and Compline in the ancient St Mary the Virgin church, long walks, the song of the seals and two sixty mile drives eventually brought me back to myself. 

The rage finally abated.

 

On Tuesday Ferretfingers and I spend the day at Ouseburn Farm. 

One of the volunteers there reminds me so much of a colleague from my first office job forty six years ago that I swear he could be his son (who would now be in his fifties).  We’ve developed much the same banter as George and I did.

George once paid me the highest compliment a Geordie male of his vintage could “Haway man-wumman-man, ye’r not a woman – ye’r a mate!” (workmate that is).

On the Tuesday after Holy Island George Jnr said to me 

“Well, you’re looking a lot better this week.  You’ve got your glow back.  I said to her at home last week ‘she was full o’ hell the day’”.

Then on Tuesday evening … 

see tomorrow’s blog.