Sabotage!

On Monday morning, I approached my elderly washing machine with the intention of hanging out the clean wet clothes and refilling it with the dirty dry ones. A never ending cycle as old as time. As I waited for the 'safety' timer to allow me access to the inner sanctum that is the drum i pondered on how the machine decided when to let me open the door. Some days a few seconds, other days it seems like minutes tick by before that smarmy 'click' and I'm allowed to open the porthole door.
Anywhoo, I opened the door and suddenly, WHOOSH! my feet were wet through and the kitchen floor was under water. I slammed the door shut and started reaching for the dirty washing out of the laundry basket to mop up the flood. Needless to say, the washer did not work when I tried to empty the rest of the water.

Last night my hero, Mr Fink, drained the machine, checked the filter, removed some unidentifiable brown gunk, an elastic hairband and 20p. We switched the machine on and Hey Presto! She lives!!
Eager to catch up with the ever growing pile of washing, I threw a load of washing on to complete overnight, ready for hanging in the morning. Our machine is so old and has been fixed so many times that now when it runs, it sounds like its being powered by bees. bzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZ it goes, an odd but familiar sound now.

This morning I unloaded the washer, watched fondly by Mr Fink (admiring his washer fixing talents). Once I had taken all the damp clothes out I presented him with the remaining artifacts, three hair bands and 4 kirby grips.

SABOTAGE!!!!!