It’s a sad morning for us, as today we say goodbye to one of the oldest members of our household – the dishwasher.
At seventeen, I don’t think we can complain that it was a life cut short, rather we should celebrate all those years of devoted, trouble-free service (and as we live in an incredibly hard water area, we are indeed very thankful for the lack of problems).
It went out in a final flourish, shorting out the socket circuit in the whole house at exactly 6.03am – I know, because that’s the time the clock-radio went off, cutting John Humphrys and Today off even before it had a chance to get started.
At first I assumed it was a power cut and stayed in bed, but eventually I got up and realised that the lights were working. Coming downstairs, the smell of burning electricals was unmistakable, and it was quickly apparent where the smell was coming from.
But to its credit, it hadn’t died until it reached the very end of the washing cycle, so the whole load was clean – how thoughtful – a faithful servant to the end.
Now we have to decide whether or not to replace it – undoubtedly a hard act to follow. I did suggest to the daughters that we could manage without one, as I was sure they’d be willing to wash-up instead. You’d have thought I’d asked them to empty a septic tank with a teaspoon.
The dishwasher was the first appliance my husband and I bought together. We had it about a year before we got married, and I remember that at our marriage preparation classes, when asked what we thought was essential to sustain a happy marriage, I somewhat flippantly, but very honestly, said a dishwasher – and actually, I still think I was right. I have a theory that it’s the little things, like arguing about who’s doing the washing up this time, that sow the seeds for bigger, nastier arguments down the line.
So, the end of an era. I better go now and browse John Lewis online…
For the record – it was an Indesit.