Fixed Up And Fecking Off

I have fixed the washing machine!
I know! I know! I’m just as freaked as you.
A jig was danced!
That hideous dance twats of Celtic descent do.
Where a bit of Motown hip twirling gets mixed with a smidge of Riverdance
I’m loving this ‘Can Do’ weed!

It would appear that reading the manual, even after about 10 years of ownership, is a real boon!
(Disturbing that I have the manual! But let’s move on!)
Error Code 20 means that something is blocked.
Who knew?
So, following the ‘Euro Pictures’ that render language defunct, I tackled the area known as the ‘pump/pompe/ pumpe’.

Obsessive Compulsive attention to detail can be as serious handicap here, especially where the ‘diagrams’ are concerned.
I found looking at them very quickly, then getting someone to describe them, helped slightly.
Like IKEA stuff!
The mistake is in ‘trying’ to understand.
Nastiness came out and instantly fell within the same realm as cat sick and dog shite, a realm where I don’t deal with such things.
I walked away, but being a slave to DNA and my father’s daughter, I yelled over my shoulder,
“Any money found is mine”.
I even laughed at myself for the predictability of the sentence as I sat down.
Then even more predictably I shouted,
“No! Really! It’s mine”
Thanks Dad.

I’m off to Snowdonia for a week or so.
It’s a part of Wales I haven’t seen and I’m looking forward to it.
We’ll be in a cottage five miles from Lake Bala.
A place greyhounds can run free and I can really start to play with my new camera.
I have weed, The Guide to British Birds and a mushroom field guide.
Sorted.

I’m going to attempt keeping a handwritten diary, something I’ve never done before.
With my Mother? Are you kidding? The Alan Turing of Diaries?
I vividly remember the horrible schadenfreude moment when she found my sister’s.

Catch you all in a week.