THE BATTLE OF THE BULB
I am in the middle of a bitter (ish), unspoken domestic war at the moment. The field is the kitchen, the territory the spent light bulb that blew about a week ago whilst I was home alone with the girls.
As these things do, the malfunction tripped out loads of other things leaving me to puzzle out why the hot water still wasn’t working on Sunday. This I did, the time lag from Friday to Sunday making it a harder task than it sounds, but then that was as far as I wanted to go with electrical problems. In short, I had done My Bit.
Those of you who lead precise lives will wonder how the hell I can let things slide in this lacksadaisacal mannner, the answer is: I have no idea. Sometimes things just don’t bother me enough to work them out. For example, for a long while in my car I was getting my CDs interrupted by some random traffic announcer. I had pressed the button I held responsible a couple of times, no joy. I resigned myself to my folk music or hard rap suffering constant interjections from some bloke talking about the M2. Then a friend had a lift, asked me what the hell was going on, pressed a button and fixed it. I need to get her back in the car actually, because it would nice not to have the CDs on total random play the year round.
Anyway, back to the light bulb. I don’t want to change it, I have no desire to see the kitchen closely in any case, and I don’t even know if we have any light bulbs anyway, although I can’t say I’ve actually looked.
I might see what the other side of the story has to say for himself to even it up on here. Either way, the bulb stays blown and I’m not going to crack…