The world from my window

The washing machine repair man came this week to fix the Hoover, one-year-and-one-month-old and out of warranty. Parts are free for five years but labour is not, so when the thing suddenly sounded on the spin cycle like the Hadron Collider, we made some calls. As the one-year warranty was up, the only thing we could do was take out insurance there and then, at a cost of around £130. This, we were told, would pay for the labour, call-out and also protect us in future. It took nearly three weeks to be fixed. In the interim, I have been running across the road with baskets of dirty laundry, diving into my neighbour's house to use her machine while she was away. But there are only so many times you can avail yourself of such kindness. So, in the meantime, the washing has piled up. And this week, the Grigg household resembles a Chinese laundry. The repair man came from Hoover Candy on Tuesday. He was very sweet, with a lovely Westcountry accent and one of those rotund bodies only a Wee...

I stagger across the square with a laundry basket on my hip. The washing machine has busted, a month after its first birthday and year's warranty. I am grateful Mrs Bancroft is on the Grand Tour because I can sneak in and use her very sleek and silent washing machine while she is away. It purrs like a very quiet cat, unlike my Hoover which made so much bloody noise the other night when it was spinning Mr Grigg's boxers I thought it was the Hadron Collider. An imprint on the outside suggested a very solid alien inside desperately attempting to escape. I checked to make sure the pets were all accounted for and then rang the Hoover man. This morning, he inspects the machine and tells me a large bolt has sheered off inside. I now have to wait another week for it to be fixed. I wander across the road in the rain with my washing basket, looking out for stray Porsches. If it's a deliciously-sounding throaty engine, it'll be Mrs Chocs-Away. Or it could be a local builder whose ...