Tag Archives: tumble dryer

Boom boom

I was thinking of John Lee Hooker with that title.   I was going to go with “Boom boom boom boom”, which is how the song starts, but then realised that was also the title of a Vengaboys song and I just didn’t want to go with trashy europop.  Now I’ve just remembered Basil Brush (you lot not in the UK are going to have to get on your Google) so my vaguely hip subject line has been hijacked by an irritating fox with a hand up his arse.

I happened to notice the daily post email that presumably arrives in my inbox every day and doubtless gets cleared out by my energetic spam checker.   It suggested “Clean” as suitable subject matter and it brought to mind an incident or two last week.

You may remember that I’m not the best sleeper.   It’s been mentioned numerous times on here, go back and read some of my other posts for an in-depth analysis of my nocturnal misery.   I was safely ensconsed in my bed, cosy against the bitter cold of a West London winter (so not really that cold) when a rhythmic beating disturbed my slumber.

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

I checked the clock.  It was just after 2am.   This is a usual time for me to wake up on my own so I was quite cross to be awoken by external influences.

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

I thought perhaps somebody was trying to break in.  It wasn’t a very subtle attempt to gain access and a moments thought made me realise that any burglar worth his salt wouldn’t be so noisy.  I’ve been woken in the past by a broken gas main, or rather the chaps who decided to search for one.  They have a gadget that bashes holes in the floor, it also produces a steady and constant beat but the timbre was all wrong for that.

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

The only thing to do was to investigate.   I donned the Verbal Hedge equivalent of a silk kimono and went in search of the boomer.

The youngest was on the decking in his pyjamas.   The door to the decking wide open, allowing icy blasts of Twickenham air to whistle up my trouserless legs.   He was banging a football boot on the decking.   Boom, boom, boom, boom.

“What on earth are you doing?” is an approximation of what I said to him.    “Cleaning my boots before training tomorrow” was the absolutely obvious answer.   His cleaning method involves bashing the boot on the floor until all of the mud from between the studs has left the boot and landed on my (previously clean) deck.   I reached for a convenient tent peg and showed him how to do the job quietly and thought that would be the end of it.

Two nights later…

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

It was earlier, around midnight.   i was crosser, almost steaming.   I stormed down the stairs, passing youngest on the landing and getting ready to give him an earful.  Hmmm, I passed him on the landing.  What could be causing the bloomin’ booming this time?

We have a tumble dryer.   It lives under the stairs in a previously undiscovered echo chamber.   If you fill it with an entire football kit and several wet towels then the bearings in it give up.   Every rotation of the drum is heralded by a thump that is amplified by the under-the-stairs echo chamber.   After removing roughly half of the contents the thump became a sigh, so I went back to bed and listened to the tumble dryer quietly sobbing to itself for two hours.   At least it gives me something to fix that doesn’t need to be carried down to the shed.

If you click on the daily post link above then you’ll find lots more Clean tales that are far more substantial than this one.

 

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