Who ever mentioned Hoover?

Anybody following the fortunes of my hoover may have read that it was left in a state of suspended animation, and lurking in a cupboard. Then I fell off the filter- loss helpline, deciding that a bit of absorbing paper might do the trick.
Putting it in the filter slot, I was firm with its owner. 'You know, my friend, you want to be careful. When we'd a hotel, we'd your industrial cousins. We were surprised that it was only after persistent nagging at the shop where they went for a service, that they were returned - in three small bags, the rest having come in handy for spare parts. If you're not careful,' I lowered my voice, 'you too could become a donor, now...' I stepped on the starter- pedal. 'Go!' .
Plainly, the machine was listening. Oh! How we roared about the house, cornering at speed, accelerating on the straight and cutting a swathe of cleanliness throughout. I swear there was a line-up of things wanting to fly up the feeder hose. The strange thing was that they did, but not out the other end. It did save emptying the dust container, but eventually curiosity won. I tried to look down the tube. Saw nothing.
Apparently the things in it were having such a nice time there, they'd bonded. Despite lures including grappling hooks, bamboo canes, and manly pressure on a broom handle to the accompaniment of my old  midwife- mantra call, 'Push!' the tube's contents refuse to budge. There they remain. Maybe a Stanley knife or water hose will encourage them out.

In the meantime, what goes up, must go down eh? Not in this house.


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www.janeyeadon.co.uk

My less than beautiful Hoover.Part One.

I've an uneasy relationship with technology. I can't understand why things which don't work don't respond to the threat of a hammer or spanner. Recently I bought a hoover which promised it would do everything but write a cheque. Anyway, these days, that's so last year, it seemed a trifling consideration.
To begin with and in a roar not unlike a jet taking off, my hoover and I set about the house. The machine refused nothing but the electric blankets. It swallowed the attached cords without a murmur, scooped up nuts, screws and bolts with ease and set about enough house dust and fluff to start a compost heap.
Determined to look after this new gadget I read the instructions and learnt that the machine's efficiency relied on regular and proper cleaning of its filters. Dear Reader, I confess to making a diary note as to when the filter needed washing.See? I meant business!
Driven by this new found enthusiasm for getting things right, I duly washed one of the the filters- hung it somewhere safe to dry. So safe in fact, that I now can't remember where I put it.
I shall continue this tale once I get off the hoover help-line queue.
www.janeyeadon.co.uk