The death and theft of Hitler (the washing machine)

On Thursday the washing machine died.

It wasn’t just any old washing machine – it was the only appliance that made the journey from London to Hampshire. A remnant of the past and a faithful washer for eight years.

Before, I bought this washing machine, I was without a washer for a while and I’d been hand-washing for a family of four. As you can imagine, it was a relief to have a machine to whirl and clean clothes.

I remember using it for the first time. I did a load of clothes and when the cycle had finished, it beeped and beeped and beeped until I turned it off. With this demanding behaviour, I named the machine Hitler (not the most political correct of names for a washing machine, I suppose). I was really fond of my dictatorial appliance.

But alas, all good things must come to an end and Hitler went out with a bang and blew the fuse board.

Not wanting to repeat months of hand washing, this weekend I was on a mission to find a replacement. We did, and I spent my Sunday morning plumbing in a new washer.

Hitler was moved outside on the driveway yesterday but this morning it was gone.

It means somewhere between 8.30 last night and 7 this morning, someone had come onto our property and carried away a washing machine. It’s really heavy so you can’t just pick it up on a stroll past to the shops.

I was going to call someone to pick it up and now I don’t have to but it’s not a comforting thought that someone can decide to take away things on your property. Last year, the car was broken into – they moved things about and stole about £3 in loose change (very strange).

Anyhow, I’m going to forget about the intrusion and be thankful that whoever took it did me a favour.

And who knows, perhaps it was the fairies?