It was a fine day yesterday so I decided, with a hint of pressure from my little nest of vipers, to pressure wash the paving and path areas ready for summer.
Now I have to say that my pressure washer isn’t the most up to date model available and doesn’t even rate a mention on the history of pressure washer pages on the Web. I doubt one would even turn up on the Antiques Roadshow, or as it’s known as in Norfolk, Tomorrows World.
Anyhoo, away I went and the little beast was doing fine ‘till it came to the last area of the very last area when he done did die. I left him for an hour in case it was an overheat cut-out. No it wasn’t. Okay, change the plug fuse, right? Not the fuse in the beast, not the extensions fuse nor the main board. With no way to open the guy to explore his innards, I declared him dead.
What to do? Tweet Trumpton? Badger Blair? And who rattled his cage by the way? He is confined to a cage, right? No, a little Jays Fluid, a deck scrubber and a couple of hours exertion will get it. She wasn’t too impressed with this but did a pretty good job between womanly whining. Me? I handled the backbreaking hosing off operation. As required.
All done but it’s nowhere near as clean looking as the pressure washed area but it’ll pass for now. Shiny shopping on the horizon I guess.
Quote; Donald Trump.
“People assume I'm a boiler ready to explode, but I actually have very low blood pressure, which is shocking to people.”
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