Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Oh, for the Love of……Washing Machines.

Well, it wasn’t long after I’d finished posting yesterday when Usha left her comment asking me if I was going to be allowed a period of mourning for the beloved washing machine. She’s quite right, of course, an item that has served the household with such honour should be given the send off it deserves. However, Mr Turley in his eagerness to install the replacement which arrives tomorrow has already dragged it, huffing and puffing, out onto the driveway awaiting the Deliverers of the New Washer who are to remove it for the unwholesome sum of £15.

Now I’ve never known Mr Turley to be so generous in the disposal of any item before; he has cut up sofas, paving slabs, cabinets and various household accoutrements in order to avoid paying refuse charges. But not this time, his is unbearably eager for the replacement as he knows his life will not be worth living if it is not installed promptly. However, I have suggested a number of more attractive disposal options, including;

1. Burning it in the back garden in the manner of Darth Vader’s funeral pyre. Whereupon it’s spirit will arise and restore balance to The Turley Household. As a result, its replacement, Luke Warmwater, will have his powers increased and be able to spin at incredible speeds of 1600rpms.

2. Stuffing the drum with a small, but effective package of Semtex explosives, which I then will light when the next door neighbour’s cat is passing (just for the added thrill.)

3. Tying it to the back of my car and dragging it along the nearby bypass singing through my tannoy, “Give me joy in my heart, keep me praising…” while it breaks up into many small pieces which inadvertently puncture the tyres of passing boy racers.

4. Since the cooker is terminally ill, I could use it as an impromptu barbecue; I could light a small fire underneath it and place the sausages, oven chips and onion rings inside the drum whereupon I believe they would be appropriately burnt in the fashion there are normally accustomed. Excellent.

5. Burying it in the back garden in the area in which we normally dispose of the cat litter and planting a fragrant rose bush on top so that when it blooms it will always remind me of the many hours I have spent in its precious and welcome company.

Now, Ladies and Gentlemen to continue on a vaguely related matter, I wish to inform you that I am writing my own Dictionary. You’ve heard of The Oxford English Dictionary and The Collins English Dictionary… and soon to be on the market is The Turley English Dictionary. It will available for vast amounts of cash and hopefully make me a millionaire. Now it’s not a normal dictionary; it gives you the standard definition and then the REAL definition of the word. So I’ve just checked what I’ve written for Washing Machine and this it what it says;

Common definition; a square shaped inanimate object used for the cleaning of clothes. It holds no interest for men even though it has a round door which opens and closes with ease without any required foreplay.

Genuine definition; a short, fat woman in her forties, highly animated but with very sore hands.

If you’d like to add to these definitions please leave a comment as I’m still at the drafting stage. Just for your interest here are a couple of my other recent definitions;

Vacuum Cleaner.

Common Definition; a heavy, oblong or circular shaped object which is the cause of much earache. Used for the removal of fluff and dust from the households of over zealous husbands afflicted by the disorder Cleanus Upperus, which causes a life time of agony and unadulterated madness for their unfortunate partner.

Genuine definition; a short, fat woman in her forties with a large space between her ears.

I’m working on the genuine definition of Umbrella at the moment to which I’ve come up with…….

Posh Spice.

Again, if you have anything further to add please leave a comment.

And now my friends I must go… Happy Washing Everyone!

Oh and if you fancy watching Darth Vader going up in smoke and imagining the alternatives, here's the link;


© Jane Turley 2008


  1. Disposal option no 3 would have been most fun and befitting but then we wouldn't want Jane to get on the wrong side of law - would we? unless these cells are equipped with computers for blogging.

    I look forward to The Turley English dictionary which I promise to buy. Meantime give us sneak peeks into the delightful definitions.

  2. I can't wait for the definition of Posh spice lol!!
    Too bad there was no requiem sung for WM Darth Vader. Even he deserved one. Well all the best with Luke Warmwater.

  3. Yes Usha, no 3 would have given me a certain pleasure! Oh, to see the dratted thing bouncing up and down the bypass, flinging from side to side... However, I've just had a thought.. what if that was The One Occasion when Pierce Brosnan pulled up alongside me in his Supercar and challenged me to one of those sexy car chases? I'm afraid that if he were to observe my washing machine tailing behind he might be put off...

    Sue, there's still time..the collection is tomorrow! Any suggestions? How about, "Don't Cry for me Zanussi X360, The truth is you never let me down, all through my wild life, my mad existence...."

    Oh well, maybe not.

  4. An umbrella is a magic item that guarantees it won't rain when you are carrying it. (and vicky verky...)

  5. Mrs A you are so correct. Why they are indeed magic items! I will definately put that in my dictionary. They are also magic because when the wind blows they turn inside out; instantly transforming you into a flying carpet upon which you can sail to the Umbrella Relacement Shop.

    Oh, I also believe they are manufactured in The Shire.

    Oh Mrs A, I am in an uncommonly silly mood today!

  6. JT, you simply cannot imagine my delight at reading this post at such a fortuitous moment in my sad life.

    Our entire family is currently overwhelmed by a blanket of shock, grief and traumatisation, which lays heavy on us both individually and collectively like a thick frost on a February morning.

    The reason? My dear mother announced only last week that her beloved chest freezer, fondly nicknamed 'The magic food locker', passed away in the night.

    Sadly, after an amazing twenty years sharing life's love and laughter with our family, TMFL, kicked her mortal clogs, not as one would have hoped, peacefully and with a degree of dignity, but in a terrifyingly loud manner, waking my sleeping parents, their pet dog Fifi-Le-Grande, disturbing the tortoise (who I believe was still in hybernation at the time), and their love bird, Eric - with inner mechanical workings sprayed liberally around their freshly decorated kitchen.

    Mum never much cared for dad's paint choice fortunately. Baby blue with Harvest moon yellow is sooo yesterday!

    We all loved TMFL, and it will be some time before my family can look at another leg of frozen lamb, pack of Brain's Faggots, or Walls white chocolate ice cream again without becoming tearful, and thinking of our dearly missd freind.

    Your wonderful post has helped, and I am truly grateful.

    Keep strong


  7. I'm off to show my hubby the standard version of washing machine.

  8. The average housewife (this probably doesn't mean you) would be worth £30,000 pa if she were to be paid...

    Tell Mr T he is on to a bargain!

  9. I like blowing it up, but yes, don't want homeland security types invading your garden, or do we! They might take it all away as evidence.

  10. My Dear Floogie,

    Oh, Oh, how I pity you and your entire family over the sudden and dramatic loss of The Magic Food Locker! My deepest sympathies of course lie with Mrs Floog Senior who has had a double life sentence inflicted on her whereas I have had just the statutory 10 year sentence with my dearly beloved Zanussi X360.

    The demise of TMFL is a tragic tale indeed. However, it also a very suspicious one... for the TMFL to explode in such an unseemingly manner suggests that there are dangerous and subversive forces in The Floog Household. Perhaps there is a traitor in your midst..somone who wished to dispose of the TMFL for devilish, cunning reasons...

    I suggest to you (and ssh be careful there maybe unknown ears listening as we speak) that Fifi Le Grande is a dangerous assassin more commonly known as "The Jackal". Have you checked her doggy passport lately? Is she well travelled? Has she been missing and returned without the smallest woof of explaination?

    Ah ha! I thought so; Fifi le Grande has been conspiring to replace TMFL with a new enlarged dog basket that will sit comfortably where TMFL has sat for twenty years. Alas, the draught by the door was too much for Fifi to bear and thus she did the necessaries on the plug socket and Oo La La TMFL was no more!
    Perhaps Fifi Le Jackal has assumed that only a small replacement MFL would be required now that the Little Floogies have flown the nest and that with the departure of TMFL there would now be room in the kitchen for a new Deluxe Pooch Basket.

    Watch your step Floogie this is a cunning and sly creature; you must check underneath her blankets for her Magnum lest she follow your mother to bed and decide she now needs the duvet...

    ..and be warned Fifi Le Jackal also has night vision goggles....

  11. This blog is just great - I can't tell you how amused I was to imagine Pierce Brosnan overtaking you on the by-pass when you were trying to drive the old washing machine to destruction! I imagine he'd raise an eye-brow and do something gentlemanly to help you out of your predicament .... Let's just say; you wouldn't be doing the school run that afternoon! Goodness, is that the time? I must go and do some housework!

  12. Mrs A; I have read the said article and I feel that shortly I shall have to blog upon this very matter. Now, do I detect in your tone that you think I am not worth a meagre £30,000? Are you implying Madam that I am not sufficently able in the Household department to deserve such a sum? A blog indeed will follow in which it is very possible you may feature Mrs A!

    Jafabrit... Hum... I cannot make up my mind whether to blow it up or not. The presence of the Bomb Disposal Squad or perhaps The SAS in my back garden may indeed reveal to the world my more extreme behaviour.On the other hand I look favourably upon young gentlemen in black with stockinged masks and bulging biceps...Oh! I am torn, torn...

    Just as point of interest readers when I first met JB I assumed that her name was due to her love of Jaffa Cakes..which I know a lot of you ladies out there must be fond of too...but no, it means Just Another *******Artist!Tres Naughty Jafa Brit.

    To which I add that my own experience of Art is limited to a paltry A level. Indeed, I remember most fondly the 6 hours spent sketching a most interesting and inspiring array of ski equipment for the final exam. Fortunately, the teacher allowed us to talk (as it was not the sort of subject you can cheat at) and so I spent most of the time waffling; I'm afraid the rectangular shapes of the skis became somewhat "impressionist"- ie resembling something that occasionally gets stuck to one's foot...

    Fortunately, the examiner had severe vision problems and thought it was a piece of sheer genius and so I scraped by with a "c".

    If anybody needs artistic advice I will happy.. not to help; please contact Jafabrit.

  13. Oh my god Mrs T, this is one blog where we get 3 for the price of one, which in any case is already free of charge - the pierce brosnon story and the scoop about fifi le grande and then that bit about your art class - I am a living example of that icon that goes by the acronym ROTFL and my family is wondering if I am having convulsions or if my usual madness has just gone one step further. heheheheheh

  14. I was merely observing that you are not an "average housewife"...Take it how you will!

    What is it with these art teachers - I once had to render in pastels, or somesuch, half a brussels sprout. That got a C as well...

  15. You HAVE to blow it up. It is a bylaw in your area. And if you need help, I can use my skills as a pyromaniac to get it under way and watch the resulting explosion!

    As for the dictionary for Posh Spice, how about:

    Common definition: Annoying stick insect with the singing ability of a weeble with a lisp and a penchant for making me want to throw up.

    Genuine definition: Excrutiatingly annoying waste of space begging to be loved by clinging on to her husband who wears a skirt and eye liner thinking this will help her career.

    Damn I hate that couple. Aaaaand exhale.

  16. hum, bulging biceps, yes! now that's a thought! I was going to suggest you should have drawn a few of them for art, but err! somehow me thinks too much of a distraction. How about these fellas eh! doing the haka

    Never thought I would say this, but yes, I could have been a bit of a rugby slut once upon a time.

  17. Oh I must NOT dwell on the subject of Pierce Brosnan.I MUST NOT!

    But I can't help myself.. oh no!......

    I am driving along, my hair flying behind me in the wind, pieces of metal breaking off the Zanussi and sparking off the tarmac behind me...I glance to one side as the drum of the washing machine rolls past and then suddenly I see him; Pierce Brosnan has pulled alongside me in his cleancut Super car, his engine is throbbing, pulsating; my engine starts to throb even louder...

    Our eyes meet across the bonnets. He clutches his gear stick; I press my horn. He pulls out his gun; I seductively wave my dishcloth....

    AND THEN...

    ... he sees my washing machine...

    .. and drives on by....

    Bugger; things never seem to work out just as I plan them....

  18. Ah Monsieur Sy...Vere 'ave you been mon cherie? I 'av missed your wit. 'Ave you been busy directin' see Planes into see French coast? I 'ope not for you vood surely be sackedd....

    Anyway I 'av a cunning plan.. you vill direct a Boeing 747 over my 'ouse and it will release see contents of see Latrines onto see Zanussi....

    I will cry "Stuka, Stuka" (Coz it sounds bettair.)
    .. and sen I vill cry.."Oh, see Bloody French say 'ave missed again!"

  19. Oh Monsieur Sy.. I sink I 'av pissed myself laugin' at me own joke!

    Cest terrible!

  20. Jane, Jane, Jane.... you've overlooked the very obvious method of depositing the defunct washing machine on someone else's curb in the middle of the night, wiping it for fingerprints, and then skulking off smirking with pride. Make sure you go one street over, as the delivery truck for the new one is a dead giveaway.

  21. About Me...Ah ha! At last My Friend The Eye Wit has arrived!Oh, how infuriating that he should point out the most obvious solution for disposal... and indeed I am not particularly fond of those neighbours one street over. Why it is 3.30am here in Ol Blighty if I slip out now no one will notice.....

  22. Ah Mrs A..for a moment there I thought that was backhanded compliment. A clever trick perhaps... I know you too well.. a devious woman...Are you are trying to get me to do the cleaning at your house by subtle flattery? It shall not work Mrs A; I have enough cleaning at my own!

    Ah yes, fond memories of many a vegetable and plotted plant in Art. Why there is nothing so attractive as a large turnip placed at an angle of 45º with the sunlight falling upon it, aside a small squashed tomato.....

    Jafabrit... Those Rugby Fellows would be most welcome at my house! I am sure that just one of them would be able to toss the Zanussi away with a mere flick of his finger.
    Tell me why they do that strange dance? Are they suffering from third degree constipation?

  23. Mrs. French-accent, artist-that-was, JT, are you sure you weren't Fifi-le-Grande's moll? Seems to me you know too much about the crime :D

  24. Agree with Usha - on pt 3 there although you could have sung the refrain from Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust"which I think goes like this
    Another one bites the dust
    Another one bites the dust
    And another one gone, and another one gone
    Another one bites the dust
    Hey, Im gonna get you too
    Another one bites the dust
    Looking forward to the dictionary !

  25. God Moaning. The resist-once have accqo-aired a bum. They are going to ex-plod the whaleway brodge. Take ze wishing moon-shine zere.

    I apologuse for my absence, there is no piss for the wicked.

  26. AhHa! I sink ze clever and wily HillGrandmomom is on to me...

    So sssh Monsieur Sy and liston verree carefulee, for I will zay zis only once...

    I vill take ze Zanossi to ze whaleway brodge and put it near ze bum.

    Zen, when I zend you ze zecret code which is "Anozer won bites ze durst," You vill press ze button and zen ze zanossi vill be no more!

    You ave not been able to piss Monsieur SY? Zat is a very zerious prublem indeed. For which zer is only won cure...a veree 'ot poker!Oo La la!

  27. When they say the average housewife does work worth £30k, I think they must be thinking of the daytime TV/biscuit-munching type of housewife. What an insult that is to a housewife extraordinaire. I await publication of the survey 'The value of a housewife extraordinaire' The key points might be £60k and a bit extra for burning the sausages just so, not to mention hosting an award-winning blog. All strength to your dishcloth, Mrs T!

  28. Hello Fordfocusmom!

    Yes, you are quite right a mere £30,000 is an insult to a wife such as my good self with an extraordinary ability for cooking and cleaning...why even HRH wa after my services but alas I was not happy with Windsor as my place of abode; it is far too small, too near the motorway and there are far too many horses in nearby residence...

    Alas, this is not an award winning blog..the widget is in development; it will soon read "is nominated" or something similar. You will need to vote for Mrs Turley otherwise she may become sooo depressed she will not even be able to eat chocolate. Why who would want poor, poor Mrs T to be so desperately ill that she needs tranqilizers????

  29. You must removed ze picture of ze fallen madonna with ze big boobies from ze zanoosi before ze bum at ze whaleway brodge goes oooff. Zen when I hear ze zecret code I vill push my button.

    I tried ze hot poker but all ze got waz 4 aces and no piss.

  30. Looking at the Turley Family picture of hunters, I have no doubt Mr. Turley can handle Mr. Brosnan anytime, anywhere.

  31. Ok, Monsieur Sy, I vill remove ze picture of Ze Fallen Madonna with ze big boobies; it vood beztupid to leve my portrait beehind!

    Are you readee Sy?

    "Anozer won bites ze durst!"


    Alas, Ze Zanossi is no more.....

    Ooo but Monsieur WarmWater is tres tres bon.....

  32. It's good to know Monsieur Luke Warmwater is proving satisfactory! Long may he live.

  33. Ahhh I am vezy glad you did saved the portrait ov ze fallen MadTurley with ze big boobiez.
    It is gooid to now zat the zanooooosi is no moooooorsi and the Luke Warmwater iz zervicing you how you want!

  34. Ladies, I have the Funk & Wagnalls of washing machines: a Fisher & Paykel(Smart Drive 603 top loader).
    Now it's relatively new and I remember, on its delivery, reading instructions on how to "clean your washing machine". I thought:"Why does a bloody washing machine need washing?" While washing clothes doesn't it just clean itself?
    And if it can't do that surely a Smart Drive has a self servicing option. No, despite SIX wash options, Wash Your F@#king Self isn't one of them.
    I ignored the instructions (just as I do the advice given on medical websites that suggest your indigestion is really heart failure).
    I mean how dirty can a washing machine get, right?
    Well I got the answer last week: Grey-green globules of god only knows what glued to the inside of all sorts of nooks,crevices & crannies.
    The only way in was with a... toothbrush (Reach - soft bristles with cleaning 'nodules' on the back of the head).
    There is something cathartic about cleaning things other than teeth with a toothbrush. Perhaps if dentists also became gynaecologists they would be less suicidal.
    Also useful is a toothbrush in your child's mouth: they cant scream.

  35. I watched that clip of Darth Vader being incinerated and I could tell Luke was thinking:
    "Now what's that smell? It reminds me of something. Not the burnt carbon fibre (or is D.V. made of P.V.C.?) but the cooking one. (Sniff, sniff).... is it Aunt Beru's roasted chicken? Or the turkey?
    (Sniff, sniff) Oh no it couldn't be! Oh christ it is: the smell of Aunt Beru ... roasted!"


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