Monday, 7 November 2011

Sink Blockage #3

Well.

First it seemed like plumbing was, actually, rocket science; now, it appears to be supernatural - definate touch of the Harry Potter about the business.

Don't ask me how but it has 'miraculously' resolved itself without the help of any outside agency.  I'd just done a teeny tad of washing up and was watching, worriedly, as the soapy water went down the plug hole.  And bugger me if it didn't go hurtling down at 60mph!  I couldn't have been more surprised if the left over suds had formed into a picture of the Holy Mother.

Man Friday insists it was all his donkey work that resolved the blockage.

'What?  Two days later?  Where do you think we are, some Einsteinian thought experiment?'
'Enough of your cheek, missus,' he says, 'All you could contribute was a bottle of Mr Muscle.'

Hmmm.  All I know is that the world of Bazalgette is back to normal.  Phew.

Ooh.  Am getting out and about a bit now, thank heavens: but the first person I bump into is Poor Sandra.  Now, she's totally deaf and doesn't know any sign language, finger spelling or lip reading.  But, amazingly, that isn't the problem.  The real problem is that she thinks that I can. Me.

When I first met her, I couldn't understand her speech, realised she was deaf and tried to use some finger spelling to talk to her.  She started smiling, put her hands over mine to stop me 'talking'.  And pointed to her mouth and said to me:
'Can you lip-read, dear?'
I said: 'NO.'

She took this as a 'yes' and has been shouting at me (with exaggerated lip and tongue movements) for over 2 years. 

I tried, initially, to explain the problem but (on her husband's advice) eventually gave up.

So, today I had a ten minute conversation with her about (what I thought was) how the weather had changed suddenly and was a bit chilly.  Luckily her husband turned up, translated and it turned out we'd been talking about how Sandra was convinced that she'd been jipped at the dry cleaners.

Apparently, she took a coat in and asked them (somehow) to tighten up all the buttons and they'd misinterpreted and shortened the hem.  And now she has cold knees.

I asked her husband once (when I got him alone) and asked him why Sandra didn't write things down for people and he said:

'She's a very stubborn woman, my Sandra.'

1 comment:

  1. Hi Carol,

    I found you on Ben Hardy's blog. We often pass comments because we both write blogs on our publishers blog website.

    Just to say that I thought: Connie Brix Goes Vet was the most hilarious thing I have read or seen since the Naked Gun film when they say: "play it again Sam" and the pianist plays: "Ding Dong the witch is dead"

    You have got a radio script there!

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