CRACK! : a tale of misadventure
I am telling this tale of misadventure in its all its wordy fullness, because people at work seem to find it very amusing. I do point out that it has not yet been proved that I am not dying a hideous death due to poisoned Weetabix, but they don't seem to think this is much of a risk, and just laugh.
I was coming downstairs this morning, one step behind a shouting, staaaarving cat, when something went "CRACK!" in the kitchen. "What was th--?" I began to think. "Aaaagh!" thought cat, changing direction and fleeing between my legs. "-aaaargh!" thought I, desperately trying not to trip to my doom.
The CRACK! had sounded electrical, so once in the kitchen, I checked that the lights still worked and the fridge still had a light on. The cooker hood still lit up, and the freezer was still on. The cat then reminded me in no uncertain terms that the fridge had been opened and then closed again with no cat food issuing from it. She wished to register her complaints with the management. I addressed those complaints, and then went and put some Weetabix in a bowl...
CRACK! went Something. Skitterskitterscatter! went cat, bowl sliding one way, cat food fragments flying another, water bowl scattering hither and yon.
"Now, that really was electrical," thought I. "This is getting worryi-- Oh! What a lot of carrot cake Pellinor had for breakf-- Carrots! That was what I needed to add to the shopping list last night, the thing I struggled desperately to remember for many long minutes."
(The carrot cake is a bit of a Misadventure of its own. I made it last night, and it came out very fragile and flimsy, and oozing oil. Pellinor, for whom it was made, claimed that it was very nice indeed, but I was struck with sudden doubt. Playing back certain images in my head, I became sure that I'd carefully poured out 275 ml of oil, rather than the 175 I was supposed to pour. If this was indeed the case, several other mysteries become suddenly clear.)
Anyway, the shopping list lives on top of the microwave, so I took my Weetabox bowl in that direction, and bent over to write "carrots" on the list. CRACK! went something very close to my ear. "Aaaargh!" went I, scattering Nectar points vouchers and dead batteries hither and yon. A large battery (a smoke alarm one?) fell into my bowl. I fished it out, and put it back on top of the microwave.
Last night, I had finally got fed up with the portable CD player in the kitchen refusing to play CDs - something that does slightly impede the usefulness of a CD player - and had moved the slightly less portable one in from dining room. (This was harder than it at first appeared, and involved a toppled hurricane lamp and many dead flies.) This was plugged in to the same double socket as the microwave, so I decided that New Item In Kitchen, and New and Scary CRACK! sound issuing from its general location were perhaps related. I switched the CD player off at the wall, and waited. And waited. And waited.
No CRACK!
But could I trust it to be truly gone? What if it reappeared after I went to work? What if I came back to find that the CRACK! had burned the entire house down!
I phoned Pellinor. He advised me to go to the Box of POWER on the wall and cut power to the kitchen sockets if I was concerned. I did so. I prepared to go to work, went out to the car... remembered that I needed the shopping list and Nectar vouchers, went back in again to pick them up from the microwave...
"Hmm," thought I, looking at the battery I'd fished out of my Weetabix. "Is it supposed to look like that?" It looked like quite a sad and unhappy battery, and it was distinctly warm to the touch. After some internal debate, and the CRACK! still not having repeated itself, I decided to blame the battery. After all, if anything electrical in our house has even a hint of a bad day, it trips all the power of the circuit. Even the local neighbouring tomcat has managed to do this twice, but this hadn't happened today, despite the loud CRACK! Therefore, thinking of the vast amount of food in the freezer at the moment, I decided to switch all the sockets back on.
"Do you think you should have left it in the house?" said someone at work, after I'd told them the story. "What if the battery explodes even more? What if it is even now gushing out battery acid like some deadly, demented geyser?" (Okay, perhaps they didn't say it in quite those words.)
Fortunately work is less than a mile away, and I have the car today. I popped home and put the battery in the garden.
"What about the cat?" said person at work, when I returned. "What if the cat thinks the gouting fountain of battery acid is miraculous nectar falling from heaven, and eats the lot?" "Aha, I thought of that," said I, explaining how I had carefully hidden the batteries in a place that no cat could reach.
I proceeded with my day of work... then, "Weetabix!" thought I. "What if battery acid dripped into my Weetabix? What if I've eaten it ALL UP? What if I'm dying even now?" Needless to say, I immediately started feeling a scratchy throat and burning lips, but I told myself sternly that I was Just Imagining Things, and it all went away. I have lots of milk with my Weetabix, anyway, and I seem to remember that milk is a Good Thing when you have accidentally and idiotically consumed Bad Stuff.
(This was the reasoning I used after the truth emerged about the Curiously Lemony Tea Incident of some years ago. Pellinor had put some lemon-scented cleaning fluid in a tea stained mug and left it soaking overnight. The next morning, I did what I normally do, and chucked a tea bag in a random dirty mug, poured water on it, added milk, and drank it. "This tastes a bit lemony and not very nice," I thought. "A rogue Earl Grey teabag must have wandered in by mistake. Yuck! But I've made it now; might as well drink it, even though it's horrid." Several lessons could have been learnt from this. None of them were.)
So there it is: the full catalogue of misadventure that everyone at work is reacting to with extreme lack of sypathy and understanding.
I was coming downstairs this morning, one step behind a shouting, staaaarving cat, when something went "CRACK!" in the kitchen. "What was th--?" I began to think. "Aaaagh!" thought cat, changing direction and fleeing between my legs. "-aaaargh!" thought I, desperately trying not to trip to my doom.
The CRACK! had sounded electrical, so once in the kitchen, I checked that the lights still worked and the fridge still had a light on. The cooker hood still lit up, and the freezer was still on. The cat then reminded me in no uncertain terms that the fridge had been opened and then closed again with no cat food issuing from it. She wished to register her complaints with the management. I addressed those complaints, and then went and put some Weetabix in a bowl...
CRACK! went Something. Skitterskitterscatter! went cat, bowl sliding one way, cat food fragments flying another, water bowl scattering hither and yon.
"Now, that really was electrical," thought I. "This is getting worryi-- Oh! What a lot of carrot cake Pellinor had for breakf-- Carrots! That was what I needed to add to the shopping list last night, the thing I struggled desperately to remember for many long minutes."
(The carrot cake is a bit of a Misadventure of its own. I made it last night, and it came out very fragile and flimsy, and oozing oil. Pellinor, for whom it was made, claimed that it was very nice indeed, but I was struck with sudden doubt. Playing back certain images in my head, I became sure that I'd carefully poured out 275 ml of oil, rather than the 175 I was supposed to pour. If this was indeed the case, several other mysteries become suddenly clear.)
Anyway, the shopping list lives on top of the microwave, so I took my Weetabox bowl in that direction, and bent over to write "carrots" on the list. CRACK! went something very close to my ear. "Aaaargh!" went I, scattering Nectar points vouchers and dead batteries hither and yon. A large battery (a smoke alarm one?) fell into my bowl. I fished it out, and put it back on top of the microwave.
Last night, I had finally got fed up with the portable CD player in the kitchen refusing to play CDs - something that does slightly impede the usefulness of a CD player - and had moved the slightly less portable one in from dining room. (This was harder than it at first appeared, and involved a toppled hurricane lamp and many dead flies.) This was plugged in to the same double socket as the microwave, so I decided that New Item In Kitchen, and New and Scary CRACK! sound issuing from its general location were perhaps related. I switched the CD player off at the wall, and waited. And waited. And waited.
No CRACK!
But could I trust it to be truly gone? What if it reappeared after I went to work? What if I came back to find that the CRACK! had burned the entire house down!
I phoned Pellinor. He advised me to go to the Box of POWER on the wall and cut power to the kitchen sockets if I was concerned. I did so. I prepared to go to work, went out to the car... remembered that I needed the shopping list and Nectar vouchers, went back in again to pick them up from the microwave...
"Hmm," thought I, looking at the battery I'd fished out of my Weetabix. "Is it supposed to look like that?" It looked like quite a sad and unhappy battery, and it was distinctly warm to the touch. After some internal debate, and the CRACK! still not having repeated itself, I decided to blame the battery. After all, if anything electrical in our house has even a hint of a bad day, it trips all the power of the circuit. Even the local neighbouring tomcat has managed to do this twice, but this hadn't happened today, despite the loud CRACK! Therefore, thinking of the vast amount of food in the freezer at the moment, I decided to switch all the sockets back on.
"Do you think you should have left it in the house?" said someone at work, after I'd told them the story. "What if the battery explodes even more? What if it is even now gushing out battery acid like some deadly, demented geyser?" (Okay, perhaps they didn't say it in quite those words.)
Fortunately work is less than a mile away, and I have the car today. I popped home and put the battery in the garden.
"What about the cat?" said person at work, when I returned. "What if the cat thinks the gouting fountain of battery acid is miraculous nectar falling from heaven, and eats the lot?" "Aha, I thought of that," said I, explaining how I had carefully hidden the batteries in a place that no cat could reach.
I proceeded with my day of work... then, "Weetabix!" thought I. "What if battery acid dripped into my Weetabix? What if I've eaten it ALL UP? What if I'm dying even now?" Needless to say, I immediately started feeling a scratchy throat and burning lips, but I told myself sternly that I was Just Imagining Things, and it all went away. I have lots of milk with my Weetabix, anyway, and I seem to remember that milk is a Good Thing when you have accidentally and idiotically consumed Bad Stuff.
(This was the reasoning I used after the truth emerged about the Curiously Lemony Tea Incident of some years ago. Pellinor had put some lemon-scented cleaning fluid in a tea stained mug and left it soaking overnight. The next morning, I did what I normally do, and chucked a tea bag in a random dirty mug, poured water on it, added milk, and drank it. "This tastes a bit lemony and not very nice," I thought. "A rogue Earl Grey teabag must have wandered in by mistake. Yuck! But I've made it now; might as well drink it, even though it's horrid." Several lessons could have been learnt from this. None of them were.)
So there it is: the full catalogue of misadventure that everyone at work is reacting to with extreme lack of sypathy and understanding.