Dishwashers have a habit of dong this. On the one day when they really ought to behave because you are really really busy, their little red light blinks at you. Well. Not at me exactly; more at Lynnie. And she told me to deal with it.
And so, to deal with it I do.
After half an hour of hunting for the owner's manual and not finding it, I set to, bruising my knuckles and fraying my temper. After unloading the dirty dishes and kneeling on the cold hard quarry tiled floor on my best walking knees, eventually I bale out the machine using cups and egg cups and prise off the required plastic part that requires prising. I spin the whirly thing that needs to be able to whirl and re assemble the complete job.
I stand there proudly; all my engineering education has finally paid off. I stand before the machine in my wet and now sore sore knees and turn the device on once more.
The little red light continues to blink at me. It can wait until I get back from Scotland then. Lynnie rings and lets me know that the manual is in the letter rack. Why didn't I think of that?
I have sorted out and posted my food parcels. I have repacked the rucksack. I have unpacked the rucksack. I have been to town to see Laura for the Challenge haircut. I have eaten half the Immodium from my rucksack. This is not good news. I need more Immodium. I have booked the taxi.
I have prised apart my glasses and glasses arm and re-glued them back together more or less in a straight line this time. My fingers are now covered in Superglue.
I have packed the rucksack again; this time including my maps, route sheet and money. I shall now go and get dressed in my Challenge clothing, ready for the off.
There is a ghastly sinking feeling that I have missed something. I am sure Phil will let me know when we are on the sleeper tonight, heading for Scotland. Phil says I will be easily recognisable on the TGO Challenge: I will be the chap covered in rice and porridge from the dishwasher, stuck to me by the Superglue, peering over the top of the wonky glasses.