Terrafirminator

In this day and age, you would think that machines used for our general household use would be created with the intent of being reliable, simple and just as they seem. But then someone dreamt up the "Terrafirminator" from Gnomeo and Juliet. This deadly and twisted mix of metal and power is the supremo of lawnmowers. It makes Axl Rose look as metal as a banana split. Right now I can hear our shonky old three-wheeled wonder shittin' metal at the moment for the fear that such a mower exists and might replace him.... or mow him down. Bless him, poor dear tries his best despite his disability - but he's safe for now, his owners are too tight to upgrade just yet. Unless of course he continues his most annoying habit of stubbornly veering off to one side and falling down holes. Not that I'd know, of course, that's hubby's cross to bear.

Not so, unfortunately, for my own little scrap of domestic bliss - the washing machine that I remember Mum grappling furiously with was passed down to me in my early days of setting up house. And faithful though it was... it would suddenly decide mid-cycle that your towels were unfairly distributed and it had become determined to loudly and violently shake them into compliance. But c'mon, the old girl was the first release beyond a washboard, she was old and cranky and not willing to take on my family and its smelly socks. Can't blame her really.

And the cheapo made-for-rental-homes gas oven currently taking pride of place in my kitchen. How on earth can I achieve the dizzying heights of Masterchef accolades destined to come my way when my dodgy cooker has it in for me? Usually on special occasions, when hungry guests are eagerly awaiting the delicious culinary delights I have promised them, the oven will decide that, actually, that roast pork is just right at half cooked and it's going to save me the embarrassment of serving up a fully cooked meal and turn itself off..damn it! Grrr, makes me want to set the terrafirminator on it.

This did get me thinking, though, about some attempts made down the generations in my family to tame such rampant domestic devices. Certain images spring to mind of my Mum's bottom shaking zealously in time with the old hand-held egg beater, and my Nan's habit of enthusiastically wielding the vacuum cleaner as a dance partner. And sometimes, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em - I don't know what comes over me, but somehow the milk frothing pulse of the coffee machine evokes my most hamstring pulling, leg-kicking Elaine Bennis moves like nothing else can.

Hey - whatever gets you through the day, eh?