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.
Visit my website at:
www.janeyeadon.co.uk
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