My thoughts on a page.

Here you go, another laugh a minute! My article in the Irish Examiner’s Feelgood. Yer man is the star of the show in this one. 

How often do we hear, “It’s the little things that matter?”

Perhaps it’s different in other houses, but in ours we tend to be rather lax about fixing ‘little’ things.

So it was with the handle of the sitting room door.

From the hall it was working fine but when you tried it from inside the sitting room, it didn’t feel right.  I flagged it as a potential issue but no one cared.

They argued that all the handles on our doors were not what they used to be, reminding me we’d to rescue two children from our bathroom recently, as they didn’t know the ‘special’ way of turning the key required to open it.

So I huffed and puffed but got nowhere.

Until one morning I entered with a cup of tea, just after 9 a.m. The silence in my empty house was joyous. Looking forward to five minutes peace I closed the door, only to walk away with the handle in my hand. Putting down my never to be enjoyed tea I did my best to put it back on but failed.

I was locked in.

I’d no other choice but to climb out the window, discovering as I did so I’m not the athlete I used to be. I couldn’t wait to send yer man an “I told you so text.”

Four hours later he replied,”Glad you escaped.”

Later that night screwdriver in hand yer man entered the room assuring us he’d fix it in no time.

“Okay, but don’t close the door, just in case,” our daughter suggested.

Closing the door he smiled, “Have a little faith.”

We watched as he did all manner of ‘fixing,’ which finally ended in his suggesting our daughter rescue us via the window.

The following day we bought and fitted a replacement lock which is working a treat since.

However, as with all houses there is always something playing up and having replaced most locks in the past two weeks we were faced with a new issue.
The tap in the kitchen began to act as if it were haunted.

For weeks I’d insisted it was mental torture listening to it dripping but when I’d sit yer man down to be tortured not one drop would appear. Of course no one is going to fix a tap that’s not dripping so for a while I had to learn to live with it.

However, whatever it was that was upsetting it soon escalated. Not only did it continue to drip, it now on occasions gushed, particularly in the mornings when the heating came on. To be honest, we’d probably have learned to live with that too, if it had not also learned to scream.

Flushing a loo caused it to wail, but it was the howling while the washing machine was on which nearly finished us off.

I’ve never heard a banshee but I suspect we have neighbours who may now be convinced that they have. Its screeching continued and off for the duration of the wash. Our poor dog became a nervous wreck, almost eating her own tail as she tucked it under her and fled upstairs.

Thankfully I’m technically minded and figured out how to ‘fix’ it by tying a long pink lace tightly around the tap. It was genius, but unfortunately meant we could no longer turn it on.

Yer man was itching to get his hands on it. However, the poor dogs nerves were shattered, not to mention what the neighbours thought, so we called in the professionals who replaced it yesterday.

As I type the washing machine is on, the tap is working, I’m in the sitting room with a cup of tea and the house is silent.

Yes, it’s the little things.

Photo credit…London Irish Graduate Network