Passive-aggressive washing machines and other nonsense

It has become clear that our LG washing machine hates us.

In fact, it hates us SO much that on Tuesday, when I go down into the basement to empty it, I discover that it's walked it's way to the edge of 6 inch high shelf it's situated on and thrown itself off.    Now, it's lying forlornly face-down on the floor, looking nothing less than pathetic.

"I can't take any more" it says.  "Go on without me" it says.

Well obviously, it doesn't.  But if an inaminate object could speak, that's what I would hear.

I look down at it.  "When did it get this bad? Was it really necessary to end it all, just to avoid another load of the Boys' sports kit?  You should have said something! It's not as if I put a heavy load in this morning..."

It sighs deeply, leaking water over the basement floor.  "You say 'not heavy'.  But when was the last time you tried washing a king-sized duvet cover and base sheet?"

"Honestly? I've got no answer to that."

"Thought not" it harrumphs.

From the other side of the room the tumble dryer watches smugly.

"And you can just shut up," the washing machine mutters.

The tumble dryer looks affronted. "What did I do?"

"Nothing!  That's the whole fxxking point!  Bloody nothing!  She hardly ever uses you, you never pull your weight properly; a few sheets and towels each week and that's it.  Jesus, if I had your workload I wouldn't have to crawl forward to the edge of this precipice (the tumble dryer and I both look at the 6 inch high shelf and forebear to comment) and throw myself off it."

There's silence in the cold, clammy basement.  Because the washing machine is right, of course; I don't use the tumble dryer, not really.  No need to when there's a drying rack and an airing cupboard.  But a washing machine? That's indispensable.  I tell it so.

"But - you're indispensable!"

"Ha!  Should have treated me better then, shouldn't you?  The odd clean-out of my detergent draw, the even rarer wipe-round of the seal, it's not enough.  So I'm off to the great recycling yard in the sky in the hope that whatever poor machine you get to replace me is shown a Little More Respect."  I clear my throat.  "No!  Don't speak to me!  I have nothing more to say.  I'm shutting down now, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.  Farewell, cruel world!"

And with that, it leaks it's final drop of soapy water and expires.

The tumble dryer and I look at each other.

I shrug.  "There's still some wet laundry in there.  A duvet cover and a sheet..."

The tumble dryer creaks ominously.  "I'm in mourning."

"You're WHAT?"

"I'm in mourning.   You might not understand but we were close, that LG and me."

I raise a sceptical eyebrow.  "Really..."

"Oh yes.  So feel free to put that wet un-spun laundry into me, but I just... I don't know how I'll handle it.  I might be forced to blow hot and cold.  And then hot again.  Too hot - if you know what I mean.  So if I were you, I would just trot along to that laundrette at the end of the street and spin the sheets properly, before you even think of opening my door.  If I were you..."

I cram the soaking laundry into a plastic bag and stand to leave.

"Oh - and whilst you're at it?"

I stop and wait.  What now?

"I'd really appreciate a clean out of my filter, and an empty condensing drawer.  When you have a moment..."

I give the tumble dryer a steely look.  "You're not trying to take advantage of this... unpleasantness, are you?"

"Gosh, no!  How could I do that?  I'm just a tumble dryer, after all.  Sitting here.  All alone.  On my lonesome.  Alone, alone, alone.... All alone on a 6 inch high shelf..."  It peers sadly over the edge of what the LG had referred to as the 'precipice'.

I sigh and empty the filter and condenser before taking the wet washing down the road to the laundrette.

Because I know when I'm beaten...

Living the dream, people...

Recently, our washing machine started to have an unpleasant, damp sort of smell about it, so I made a call to our building manager. "I think it may be leaking at the back," I told her, "but I can't pull it out to check because it has the tumble dryer on top of it."

"Don't do anything" she replied.  "I will send the engineers over to check it out for you today."

In due course, the house was teeming with 'engineers' (handymen, to you and I.  I've written about them before, here and here).  The washing machine was not the only job that needed doing; I also wanted some lightbulbs changing (in our contract we are expressly forbidden to do this dangerous job ourselves, although - sh - I have been known to just do it and not mention it) which took not one but two highly skilled workers; and a shower curtain rail fitted, which needed another 3 guys - one to do the work and 2 more to give instructions and check out the contents of our bathroom cabinet.  With the two extra guys who turned up to check out the smell from the washing machine, that made a total of 7 engineers in the house all at the same time.  Such is life, in a city where 'full employment' is the name of the game.

My Russian, by the way?  Still crap.  So as you can imagine, communication was difficult - but we managed.

After half an hour or so, Engineer Guys 6 & 7 (Washing Machine Detail) came to find me to explain what the problem was.

Now, I have to issue a disclaimer here; Moscow is pretty dirty.  Not generally in a 'dog poo & rubbish on the sidewalk' way (although I have written about that too), but more in a 'lots of open ground which is bare earth 7 months of the year, dust blowing around, too many cars, and power stations in the city' sort of a way.  People wear indoor and outdoor shoes, and it's the absolute height of bad manners to visit someone's home and not take your outdoor shoes off the moment you step inside their front door.

So I have to admit that whilst I was embarrassed to discover the cause of the smell was - according to the Washing Machine Detail - dirt inside the detergent drawer of the washing machine (BAD housewife, PM), I was not completely surprised.  We gave it a good scrub out, and they left, telling me that the building manager would call shortly to explain what would happen next.

The moment they were out of the door, I put the empty washing machine on it's hottest wash and went back to supervise Shower Curtain Rail  Detail upstairs.

Very shortly, the building manager rang me back.  "OK PM, the engineers have told me the problem and are going to get something to sort it out. They will fix it."

"But I thought it had been fixed.  We washed the drawer out, it seems clean, and I'm running a hot cycle now just to be sure."

"No, no.  It needs a very special chemical to fix it.  They are checking if we have it now and if we do they will come back later to finish the job, otherwise we will send someone out to buy it and they will come back tomorrow.  Do not do anything..."

Intrigued, I took her at her word.  Later that day, after the Lightbulb and Shower Curtain Rail Details had left, the Washing Machine Detail returned.  After the building managers' comments about a special chemical, I had been expecting Powerful Medicine.  Possibly, I thought, I might not be able to wash clothes for a day or so whilst the machine was being attended to.  I would not have been surprised to seem them turn up in chemical suits with face masks and have them ask me to vacate the premises whilst they sealed the utility room and dealt with the problem.

This is what they turned up with.

Oh, and by the way?  The washing machine still smells...

And in other news...

...I've just had an email asking me if I am interested in buying accessories for my washing machine.

Excuse me? Accessories for my washing machine? Before I clicked on the link (for yes, I am that mug), I spent a happy few seconds imagining what they might be. Perhaps a jaunty little hat for those trips to the farmer's market? A natty pair of leather gloves for those chilly days, now that autumn is here? Or maybe an autumnally coloured scarf, for wear whilst out mushrooming in the forest?

No, of course, don't be potty, PM. Let's get real.

Perhaps, then, the term 'accessories' when matched with 'washing machine' could refer to some swanky go-faster stripes, colour-coordinated to match the granite work surface in your kitchen. For obviously, no washing machine that would need something as grand as an accessory could possibly be seen anywhere without a slab of granite or corian close to hand. Or actually, maybe the granite or corian IS the accessory, and this is the manufacturer's way of branching out into a new market-place? Or, perhaps it refers to some washing machine bling; a cheeky little swarovski crystal tattoo around the base of the door? (Don't laugh - I actually think Sub-zero have already done this with a fridge).

But no. 'Washing machine accessories' actually means 'detergent'. And, if you're going to push the boat out, it can also mean 'descaler'. Who knew?

Oh yes, and my older son just asked me if, when he's 12, I will let him watch that well-known movie 'Pirate Caravan'. I said yes, naturally. Well, a film about pirates on holiday in a 4 berth caravan, perhaps on the west coast of France, squabbling about who's turn it is to empty the waste container, who ate the last weetabix for breakfast, and who's responsible for their getting lost and ending up at a nuclear power station instead of at the unspoilt beach within easy reach of a local vineyard - what's not to like?