“WHAT?” you are thinking, “Four times a year?! She only does it FOUR TIMES A YEAR?” Yes. Statistically speaking, I am now down to four times a year. The last time I did it was the 3rd of June. Exactly 4 months ago. This is not good.
And the last time I did it, not many people were involved. I clearly don’t have the pulling power I used to have. They say that when you do it often, you get better and better at it, so people remain interested and keep coming back for more. Regularity keeps the cogs oiled and the wheels turning. My cogs and wheels are now so rusty it will take a harsh iron brush and a pint of WD40 to get things moving again. Maybe I should just throw in the towel and admit defeat: I am not cut out for writing a blog.
“Oh, she’s talking about writing a blog? WE thought she was on about… you know… doing it.”
Look, I can’t help it if my readers are a bunch of depraved, sex-obsessed wierdos, although I quite like the idea that you are. It rather inspires me to keep going, but to re-angle this blog into a daily, depraved collection of sex-obsessed stories for wierdos. Maybe that is the way forward. So I shall try it out here and now, as this afternoon I did reach a sort of climax, and it did indeed involve a washing machine.
(And no, it’s not the old cliché of housewives sitting on their machine during the spin cycle.)
There I was, alone, in the cellar of an old stone French house, wearing nothing but a pair of hugely sexy tracksuit bottoms, wondering how I was going to tackle the hulk of a machine in front of me. In my hands, “la carte electronique”, the soon-to-be new brain centre of my friend and lover, Arthur Martin (model AM1200). I tentatively dipped my right hand into Arthur, taking him from the top, and gently caressed the eight zillion coloured wires trailing from his upper body. Without hesitation, I grasped one of the thicker braids of wires, felt for the plug at the end, and eased it gently into place. It fitted perfectly into the electronic card and I felt Arthur Martin groan with pleasure. I felt for another plug and rammed it in harder. Then another, then another. I hoped each one was in the right place, that nothing was forced or uncomfortable (I hadn’t used any lubrification) but it was too late to turn back now. I then slid the card into the top of Arthur’s body and screwed it as hard as I could; my boyfriend had previously warned me to screw hard, in case the vibrations of the spin cycle loosened things up too much. Arthur didn’t seem to mind. I was encouraged. I slammed the lid on his head and plugged him hard into a socket. That turned him on. He lit up, I grabbed his dial and twisted it to “30 minute Flash”, and then stood back to watch him operate on his own. It was pure pleasure to see him juddering and shuddering, to listen to the rush of water and the ejection of his waste fluids, to watch him spin into a frenzy and then collapse in a heap, to hear the BEEP BEEP BEEP of the end of the wash cycle, and to know that at last, my washing machine was bloody working again. Dear Arthur Martin, how I have missed you. You do a spin job like no-one I know.
That really is quite depraved and definitely for wierdos. And very possible written by one. I can’t put this on Facebook or send it to family as I will be immediately cut out of any wills I was still in and never again be invited to parties and barbecues. If I rule out readers who are friends and family that means maybe 3 people in the entire world will read this, and only because they were on internet searching for info on how to change the electronic card of an Arthur Martin Electrolux washing machine. But at least I’ve managed to keep up my rate of 4 times a year.
NB: I am not (yet) sponsored by Electrolux.