Having failed miserably to achieve any degree of success with getting the gas water heater to ignite after the chicken shit incident, I now have a couple of other disasters to add to the list.
Coffee. The weekend before last I decided I wanted a nice strong black espresso. I swilled out the water container which was full of dust and rubbish from the strong winds. The coffee machine is in the patio, which is partly covered and – obviously – partly exposed. It’s nice to sit outside with a coffee. And the kitchen table is full of other junk.
So then I filled the water container and went to unscrew the coffee container. It wouldn’t move. I had another go. I hit the handle a few times. I ran some water through the machine in case that loosened up the dry coffee. Useless.
I put it on the floor, next to the wall, and kicked the handle. Hard. I had to put it on the floor because every time I hit the handle, the machine moved instead of the handle. But no, this did not work either. I went inside and got a nice solid black cast-iron frying pan. And hit the handle again. I spent at least half an hour doing this.
And gave up.
This weekend, knowing I couldn’t have coffee, I psyched myself up to have manzanilla at breakfast time – camomile tea – not sherry. I put the kettle on. The gas went out. We have bottled gas (no mains gas – it’s only just arrived in the cities, no chance in the villages). I lugged the empty gas cylinder into the patio – everything ends up in the patio. As luck would have it we had a spare full one ready and waiting.
I brought the new one in. I had forgotten how heavy they are. And I put the regulator on top. Then I clicked it down. It came off. I did it again, and again, and again……… and spent nearly an hour trying to get the regulator on. There is a knack to this which I once learned. It is not a force issue, but you have to get the regulator in just the right position. I have totally lost the knack.
I got a grapefruit out of the fridge and decided to leave it until next weekend. (The regulator not the grapefruit).
So where am I? No hot water for a shower/bath. No coffee. No cooking. Good one Kate.
I went into the chicken shed to change the water. The drinkers are basically like a jar – which you fill up – and then invert over a tray, and turn it round so it locks. The water drips through a small hole from the top bit. They are plastic. They get full of dust and recently it has taken me some time to undo them. In fact, it has been pretty much like the coffee machine saga – I have ended up trying to hold the tray and kick off the top. But it’s worked.
So the other week I thought I would be clever and not bother locking the one that goes on the floor. It is self-supporting. I filled it up. And turned it over so I could carry it into the run. The water fell out. All over me.
I filled it up again. This time I was clever. Well, slightly more than the last time. I just turned it a tiny little bit so it locked. Turned it over and then unlocked it, so the next time, I wouldn’t have any problems trying to undo it. Was I pleased with myself.
So pleased that this weekend I didn’t remember I had done that. Picked it up and promptly chucked all the remaining water over me and the run, as the top and the tray parted company.
I so used to be a good feminist. If only Partner went back to Spain at weekends he would be able to sort all these niggling problems. But he is too busy falling asleep in the chair in GibFlat after working on the building site all week. The coffee machine is his fault anyway as he never empties it after he has made a coffee.
All is not gloom though. At least I have a decent corkscrew in the house in Spain. Using a Swiss Army Knife (usual method) is still a bit difficult with the weak wrist. The one at the top is a cheap bottle of Spanish white, cost – something less than 2€. Well deserved after all my trivial trials and tribulations. Opened with a Le Creuset corkscrew.
I originally bought a boxed set of wine goodies for my mum and dad for Christmas (thermometer, champagne stopper, corkscrew and champagne opener). After my dad died, my mum proudly said what a super box of goodies it was, and that my dad had bought it one year. A different sort of daughter would probably have said, “Oh yes mum that’s great.” But I bought the bloody set, it was expensive at the time, and there was a fair bit of thought went into it. So I pointed out that I had bought it. I don’t know whether she believed me though.
This wine below cost more than £4 from Morrisons in Gib. I felt like a change so went for a Sauvignon Blanc which I am ambivalent about, from Chile (some good wines come from Chile), and it happens to be organic, which I didn’t notice straight away. Would I buy it again? Yes. Especially after a an incompetent weeked.