Having already rung Comet to ask where my washing machine was, I spent from three until half past rather regretting it and wondering what I’d say if I had to call the police and explain to them that there was a dead electrician in my kitchen - a knife protruding from his back and a rolling-pin shaped dent in his forehead.

It was supposed to arrive between eight this morning and one this afternoon, stroking the cat goodbye and driving back home by quarter-to. Not bad for a Saturday. I made breakfast when I arrived, then settled down to updating digitalessex.com, which was starting to look a little tired. I didn’t expect to get much of it done, of course - you can walk from here to Comet in less than ten minutes, so it would be logical if I was the first drop-off.

But one o’clock came and went and at half past I called to see where it had got to. Ten minutes lost in their automated phone system and two operators later the explained that the van had got stuck in traffic and was running late.

As it turned out that was the Comet telesales staff putting on a professional front.

Just after two, the buzzer went and I let in a furious little man, who started ranting about women, or one woman in particular, as soon as he got through the door. He clearly expected me to know what he was on about, and I assumed he was having wife troubles, so sympathised and hid behind the New Scientist, trying to ignore the ‘fucks’ and ’shits’ coming from somewhere inside the cupboard under my sink.

With a lot of banging and clattering and complaints about how stressed he was, he pulled the old machine out of its hole and unplugged the hoses. He asked for a cup of tea but the washing machine was blocking the cupboard where I keep the bags. I didn’t dare ask him to shift out of the way, so made him Earl Grey, even though he looked like the least likely Earl Grey drinker I could imagine.

There was another buzz, which he answered with a ‘Fuck - that’ll be her. Doesn’t she realise how long this takes? Doesn’t she realise how stressed I am? You can’t work with people like that,’ then went down to help her carry up the new machine.

They appeared back at the door and she was pulling faces. Clearly they did not get on. She looked at me with a ‘pity me’ expression. I smiled and held the door open as they shuffled in. ‘You’ve been to Ikea,’ she said. ‘Yes,’ I said. That was the end of our conversation - she was back to telling him to calm down. I’m guessing she’d done that a lot today.

She left, which was probably just as well and started moving the delivery truck backwards and forwards around the road so that it alternately beeped or roared, depending on which direction she was taking it, then turned off the engine and sat with the sun coming through the windscreen.

There was more swearing from the kitchen. Apparently my cupboards are not well designed when it comes to threading through water hoses. My pipes were strangely positioned and it was going to be impossible to attach anything to the hot water. There was only one thing for it. He would have to pull it all out again. I went and hid in the study.

It was then that the door buzzed for a third time. The woman with the eyes was back. The eyes were furious.

‘I think my kitchen is badly built,’ I said with a smile, but she strode past me in the direction of the new machine. I busied myself with browsing we sites that weren’t particularly interesting.

‘Are you taking up residence?’ she asked.

He said something about my cupboards, then there was a lot of mumbling I didn’t catch. She strode back along the hall and stopped at the study door to ask if I wanted her to lend me a gun. I told her it was OK - I would sit there where it was nice and quiet, thanks.

She went out and did some more reversing.

It took him another quarter of an hour to finish, at which point he apologised profusely, then drained the Earl Grey. I suspect he only did that to be polite. I told him I’d put everything back into the cupboard and sort out getting rid of all the old hoses and washers. I didn’t want to be responsible for what might happen if I kept him waiting any longer.

He thanked me, then ran back down to the van. Poor man.

I made myself some tea - real tea now I could get into the cupboard - and sat down to recover, then piled all my washing into a basket and drove back to mum’s to wash it there. Far less stress.

I let the cat out for a run and had another cup of tea, then checked my emails and packed my bags. Mum and Andrew are back this evening, so it was time to leave. It’s been a fun week, but I don’t know where it has gone. Mum has a habit of always buying plenty of food for the weeks I stay there, even though I tell her I will bring my own - I would have to pay for food if I was living at home, after all. As ever, though, there is still plenty left in the fridge.

I’ve added to it, though - brought some fresh veg and some meat pies for them to eat this evening when they get in, and a quiche for lunch tomorrow.

Round to Trevor and Jon’s for dinner with Paul. A Spanish-themed evening, courtesy of Jon’s cooking. A very fun evening, and as ever the food was excellent. A vegetable casserole for the main course, which was just right for a cold evening. Paul drank too much and came home feeling rather sick. I was driving, so had a clear head.

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