Washing machine I brought with me to Outpost from Land of the Living is broken. Not my fault, nobody had ever explained why you need to secure the drum in advance of transporting wretching thing. I just thought it was public health and safety nanny state nonsense. So I didn’t bother. For those of you tempted to be as rash, I can now explain why you need to secure bloody drum (with bar provided if you haven’t lost it – I, somewhat predictably had – or several duvets stuffed around it). If you don’t, the machine will, in transit, shake like a jelly in need of a xanax fix and the drum, which -owing to severe anxiety attack – will have spent the three days on the move trying to escape casings, will end up looking like this:
Aluminium foil. Aluminium foil that’s been squished ready to discard. Much as you would sandwich wrappings. Washing machine don’t work when their drums have been subjected to such trauma. Which is when you have to buy a new one.
However, there is an upside. It means we are afforded shopping trip. Not any old shopping trip (you can’t get butter in Outpost, you’re hardly going to get a Phillips Whirlpool), a shopping trip to Mwanza! Our nearest city. A mere five hours drive away. Mostly on appallingly bad dirt roads.
The children are ecstatic: said trip will mean an early rise, a picnic breakfast on the road (washing machine shop closes at noon) a night in an hotel, an icecream (you can’t get those here either) and the opporutnity to trawl the shelves of a supermarket which is so big you need a trolley. Unlike the one here which is so tiny you stand at counter and point to what you want so assistant can clamber shelves to get it for you.
You never thought anticipating putting a load on could be so exciting, did you? No. Didn’t think so. But then you don’t live in the Outpost. I know. Because I know all 8 people here and you – so sadly – don’t count amongst them.