In the entire history of humanity has a more annoying invention than the vacuum cleaner ever been unleashed upon the world? In Great Britain, we have called them "Hoovers" for decades even when referring to vacuum cleaners produced by other, equally annoying companies. I associate the "Hoover" brand with instruments of torture and psychological injury.
I realise that my detestation of vacuum cleaners is probably illogical but I just cannot help it. When a vacuum cleaner is noisily sucking away at nearby floor surfaces, my blood pressure rises like The Emperor Fountain at Chatsworth House.
Some time in the late 1950s or early 60s, my mother bought an upright "Hoover" in a military livery of dark blue and light grey. It had a fabric bag at the back in which the machine's bulging paper stomach was concealed. Every so often this had to be emptied or replaced.
I can picture my mother now - plugging that sucker in - her eyes kind of wild like those of a malevolent torturer. Then she would get cracking, just as I was reading a book or making a model car from balsa wood or watching "Blue Peter". The humming/whining noise went on for hours in every bedroom and over every inch of carpet.
Suddenly, respite would happen when the foot-switch was finally pressed. The dreaded noise abated like the end of an air-raid siren warning in World War II. What blessed relief! And then it would start up again... as Mum began to tackle the stairs. Aarrgh!
One of the worst things was when she asked me or other male occupants of my house to lift our feet so that she could hoover under us. Our family cat, Oscar, had a second sense about our "Hoover". It was as if she (yes, she!) could read my mother's intentions before the terrible appliance was pulled out from its shadowy cupboard under the stairs. For that is where it resided when not in use, its electrical wire wrapped around its carcass like a tangled liana vine in a dank jungle.
As I write this blogpost, my darling wife has chosen this very moment in time to use our "Dyson" vacuum cleaner. While I was doing things out in the garden - like feeding the birds and repairing some wind damage - she must have been waiting inside for me to re-enter the house before turning the bloody thing on. Whirring and vrooming - like sitting directly beneath an aeroplane's engine as it idles on the runway before take off. Horrible!
However, I have a confession to make. Back in 1991, I accidentally spilled some dry porridge oats on our hallway carpet. Shirley was out at the time so I bravely yanked my nemesis from the pantry, plugged it in and sucked up those oats in less than two minutes flat. Afterwards, I had to sit down with a mug of tea and a milk chocolate digestive biscuit in order to recover. Never again!
As I have said to Dave over at "Northsider", the man or woman who manages to invent a totally silent vacuum cleaner should be awarded an international medal or perhaps The Nobel Peace Prize. Why has it not happened yet? Look at the things that ingenious humans have created but still nobody has managed to come up with a silent vacuum cleaner. Is that too much to ask for?
* © G Laird (2019) Geograph
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/39gVs8f
ليست هناك تعليقات:
إرسال تعليق