January 13

Today, we re-entered the 1950’s and I discovered skills I never knew “The Writer” had.

Yesterday, while we are drinking our morning cups of tea in bed, I hear an ominous, rhythmic, bleeping sound coming from the kitchen. On investigation, I discover that it is being emitted by the dishwasher, running so cups and saucers would be ready for breakfast. When I open the door of the machine,I am greeted by a light display worthy of Blackpool illuminations. Every single light is on and the display panel of the machine looks like an aircraft cockpit. We have had problems with this machine before during lockdown and have felt proud of ourselves for repairing the inlet drain and cleaning the impeller, courtesy of YouTube tutorials. (Notice the casual use of technical terms here). I rush to the computer to find a solution to this breakdown, only to discover that “all dishwasher programme lights on” ” appears to be a fault never suffered by any other machine at any time and Google is silent on the subject.

I phone the manufacturer, where a young girl, obviously working from home, sips her tea while riffling through pages of the service manual – the same one I have been combing for the past hour- and finally suggests turning it off and then on again, a piece of advice reiterated weekly as a joke in “The IT Crowd”, a sitcom of recent years and a suggestion I have always found invaluable . Unfortunately, this time it doesn’t yield and we are left having to drain all the water out of the machine for the fourth or fifth time with a basting syringe. (I always knew it would come in handy for something).

I spend the afternoon on the Amazon website …….Yes, yes, of course I should have shopped at John Lewis, which is struggling and threatening to close down half its Oxford St. Shop, something that would greatly impoverish our life…….But I want it straight away to avoid scratch marks on the sink so I give in and fill Jeff Beszos’s coffers even fuller.

This morning, I unwrap an black washing up bowl and a black dish drainer, the smartest I could find to ornament our newish kitchen, and, after breakfast, I am astounded when “The Writer” leaps to the sink, flourishing a tea towel and commanding, “Leave it to me”!

I put up the least resistance to his suggestion you can imagine and watch while he polishes off a load of washing – up in seconds, folds the tea towel, upends the bowl to drain and sits down. Then I remember that in a previous life he was part-owner of a restaurant and, though he was meant to be front of house, he was more often than not relegated to the role of pot -washer, having drunk the house wine, misbehaved and whispered inappropriate suggestions in the ears of customers. (That’s how he tells it, anyway.)

Whatever the truth of this, he is obviously a willing, practiced and even enthusiastic washer-up, I’m delighted with this hitherto undiscovered talent and will be exploiting it to the full until we are prepared to risk a service engineer visit.

This is a first-world saga, I know, but there are some luxuries we come to take for granted.