Tag Archives: washing

The Hoover VT8114D21_WH Washing Machine – A Review

The Hoover VT8114D21_Washing Machine – A Review

 

Hello! I’d like to introduce you to our new pet, he’s called Dave the washing machine. He loves dirty socks, clothes, jumpers….everything we pile in the corner of our rooms and try to forget about. How cool is that? After he’s digested his daily diet of mucky washing, he returns it to us in the form of sparkling clean washing. He gets his dinner and we get clean clothes. He’s also an 8kg washing machine so he’s massive which helps when you have a family. It’s a win/win situation.

Dave The Pet Washing Machine

Dave The Pet Washing Machine

Dave is very clever, much more intelligent than your average washing machine. I know I’m bias because he’s my pet washing machine, but honestly, he is. Whilst whirling our washing around, he tells me exactly what stage he’s up to with the feeding/ I mean cleaning process by means of the control panel. I can tell him what spin speed I would like by pressing a button, I can tell him when to start the wash – this is called a ‘Delay Timer’ and he even tells me when it’s safe to open his mouth (or door as you might call it) with a door security indicator light. I always know when he’s nearly finished his last meal (or wash) because his control panel keeps me updated. See what I mean? He’s a total brainbox.

And he can do so many tricks! Whoever trained Dave was a genius, because he can do everything you’d ever need a washing machine to do: he happily gobbles (well…washes) resistant fabrics such as cotton, linen and cotton mixed……he does a daily wash with different temperature settings and loads……he delicately deals with very delicate fabrics of course, even wool……cleans mixed fabrics and synthetics……rinses, does a fast spin and has a drain only function……..he can also sit up and beg nice. Well….maybe not the last bit, but he does do everything else.. I’d give him a biscuit as a reward for good behaviour, but I suspect it would make the washing a funny colour and he wouldn’t appreciate it that much really.

Not Your Average Washing Machine - A Very Fine Pedigree!

Not Your Average Washing Machine – A Very Fine Pedigree!

He’s also a bit of a stylish beast. When he’s quietly making whooshing noises in the corner of the room, whilst looking all swish and white, with his posh control panel….it makes me very proud. I own a very well behaved, lovely, stylish pet washing machine. My last one kept holding my washing hostage, and it beeped a lot when I didn’t want it to. I think it might have been swearing at me in washing machine language. Dave is much nicer and I’m much happier with him. I looked up his kennel club, I mean washing machine lineage and apparently he’s a Hoover VT D2 breed.  Comes from a very fine pedigree it seems.  I thought Hoover just bred…well…hoovers, but I was obviously very wrong.

Be warned, you’ll struggle to find a collar that fits, and he’s rubbish at going out for walks – but he’s really rather good at washing clothes!

I was given ‘Dave the Pet Washing Machine’ for the purposes of the review, no other financial reward was given.

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Revenge is Sweet

Revenge is Sweet.

Actual transcript of conversation.

Me shouting upstairs: Have you finished your bath? 

Horace: ‘Yes, I’m just drying myself very slowly with a tea-towel.’ (Horace is 6ft4 so I imagine this is taking a very long time.  There are no clean towels in the house)

Me: Says nothing, but sniggers quietly.

Horace: ‘I dunno why you’re laughing, I have no clean socks, underpants or trousers for tomorrow.  But don’t worry, I can wander around in just my T’shirt instead all day…….(pause for dramatic effect)…and my swimming shorts I suppose.’

Me: Uncontrollable sniggering.

At this point, Horace ambles downstairs in a pair of summer shorts with no top on.  I am hanging out washing on the clothes rack over the stairs throughout this conversation.

I shouldn’t laugh, I should hang my head in shame.   But I won’t.  I’ll just do an extra load tomorrow.  Perhaps I’ll forget to wash the bath towels and just do a massive tea-towel wash instead.

This could be revenge for the snoring.  Tread carefully menfolk, ‘Ve hav vays of making you irritated’  (insert german interrogator accent).

Germ Magnets

Germ Magnets

Oh shoot me now!  Sausage is tucked up in the spare bed after having thrown up  all over his teddies, himself, his bed, everywhere.  Horace is upstairs wiping everything with anti-bacterial wipes and making piles of sick soaked sheets and pyjamas.  It’s horrid.  Sausage also threw up earlier on this afternoon.  I think we have a sick bug on our hands. I don’t like sick bugs at the best of times, normally I just make sure there’s some sort of plastic sick tub in most of the rooms and grin and bear it, but this time I’m nervous.  My tummy already aches from colitis pains and this would just put the ‘tin hat on it’ as they say around here.  So, I have tasked Horace with clearing it up as he’s at home and I normally have to do it anyway.  I made up the spare bed, so I’ve done my bit.  I don’t want to catch this!  I might just have to go bath in Dettol now.

Poor little love, he’s white as a sheet with a temperature too.  I think this might be a long night. Now I have to think about how I’m going to walk Darlek to school even if her brother is weak, poorly and liable to projectile vomit at some point on the 45 minute walk to and from school, twice a day.  I might just keep both of them off school, I don’t want to have to put Sausage through that just for the sake of attendance records, and if school don’t like that, then they can lump it.  I’ll give her work to do at home for the day.   By that point, she’ll no doubt be joining in with the vomiting.  I always say we should do more together as a family, although I meant like…trips to the zoo, not Norovirus.

I wish kids didn’t catch everything!  They really are germ magnets.  It doesn’t help that at age four they still aren’t averse to licking random things like shop counters whilst I’m waiting to pay for something – or picking fluffy food up off the carpet and eating it before I’ve had chance to stop them.  They make it worse for themselves!  Mind you, some say that kids need to be exposed to these germs because it boosts their immune system – that’s why we’re told not to use too many anti-bacterial products in the house.  All I can say is that my two will be immune to Rampaging Virulent Space Viruses by the time they finish their education.

In the days before kids I used to get about two bad colds a year, and that was it.  Now we get sick bugs, trips to the loo bugs, coughs, colds, feeling like poo bugs. (If you read that fast it could almost be an ode to a ‘Hypochondriac’)

Sorry, I’m just sick of sick bugs.  I have no time for this!  If Horace gets this he can wimp out of work and throwing up in waste paper baskets and just come home and sleep it off.  If I get this I’ll have to chuck up in the road and carry on with the school run regardless.  I suppose I could be tidy and take a plastic bag with me if the worst comes to the worst.  Oh joy!

A Head Full of Fluff and Syrup.

A Head Full of Fluff and Syrup.

My bath is running so I thought I may as well write something to kill a little time.  News? Erm…I’ve been up since about 5.45am if that counts as news?  Heard noises downstairs and wandered down to see what was going on. Found Sausage running around like a lunatic and Darlek perched on the sofa looking dazed wearing her ‘princess’ outfit for the Jubilee celebrations.  She said that they’d been watching commercials about something called the ‘non-non leg shaver’ (or something along those lines for a while as kids’ tv hadn’t started and she was desperate to occupy Sausage.  My youngest had obviously woken up literally at the crack of dawn and had decided to annoy his sister, being the thoughtful soul he is. I tried without success to get them both back to bed, gave up, went back upstairs and found Horace snoring like his life depended on it, so I collapsed in Darlek’s bed for a while.  Consequently my brain has felt like its full of fluff and syrup all day.  Tired much?

In other news not involving fluff and syrup, Sausage has been accepted at the same school as his sister which is a huge relief.  I was a disorganised moo and handed his application for education in months late, consequently he was offered a school that was totally impractical and I had to appeal / beg them to change their minds.  I’d have had to split myself in two to get them both to school on time, and since cloning has not yet been invented, it would have been completely impossible. Thankfully the appeal has gone through, and I am very relieved indeed. *wipes sweat from brow*

Darlek has sat her SAT’s in a satisfactory manner. Geddit…nudge nudge.  She has in fact done really well which is brilliant.  I’m still not over the moon that she’s only 7 years old and is having to put up with the pressure of exams, but that’s just the British education system.  The night before she started her tests I found her sobbing in her bedroom, absolutely inconsolable – she was worried that she wouldn’t be good enough and that she’d have to move down groups or something.  Unbelievable!  I had to cuddle her to sleep she was so upset, I was in tears afterwards with the frustration of it all.  My daughter is in the education system and is subject to their curriculum and rules, so there’s very little I can do.  But I hate that a child of that age can possibly be scared of failing.  All she should be worrying about is whether or not she has enough Squinkies.

Anyway!  On the upside Sausage is his cheery aggravating self and is looking forward to school.  He’s developing his sense of humour beautifully and has been practising jokes, mainly about poo. For example ‘How do cows get out of mud?’ Answer ‘With poo on their heads.’  He usually giggles hysterically after gems such as this and I have to laugh because it makes absolutely no sense at all and is all the funnier because of it.   Have I already related this story on here?  I hope not.  Honestly I’m going nuts.  I spent half of today thinking it was Wednesday, when it is blatantly Tuesday.

My news is that I found a copy of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s Veg Cook book for a tenner at a second hand book sale at the weekend, and my sister has bought me a beautiful recipe book holder for my birthday.  So I have lovingly set both up in my kitchen and pretend to be Nigella Lawson at every opportunity, usually that just involves me flicking my hair slightly and licking my fingers tips seductively whilst ripping a roast chicken in half.  Like that works! *rolls eyes*  My mother-in-law has a copy of the same book and I am blatantly copying her book choices.  Let’s see who can make a herby, nutty, noodly cucumber salady thing first eh Sweara!  Race ya!

Actually I have already made the above, but it was considered inedible by almost the whole family so I must have done it wrong somehow so I count that as a false start.  Today I planned to do an egg plant, tomato thingy and bought 3 medium sized aubergines and a huge block of strong cheese in preparation.  I got home after the school run and unfortunately I was foiled by the syrup and fluff in my head so ended up making spag bol with a jar of Ragu instead. Another false start.  Tomorrow I will try again, and will probably end up making beans on toast instead or defrosty tea.   Maybe a fluff and syrup recipe would be easier to attempt.  Watch this space.  Actually don’t.  It would probably be very messy, and sticky and would mean I’d have to use a spatula to destick my children from their dinner plates.  The dishwasher probably wouldn’t like it either. Maybe I won’t try that after all.

And on that note, my bath is ready, I’m tired, should have watered some plants today, have a pile of washing sweating in the washing machine, need to sort Darlek’s school uniform for tomorrow and am generally mucking about on here to avoid doing things I should be doing.  Story of my life! *ambles off for bath*

Feet of Clay

Feet of Clay

My mum is known to quote that ‘We all have feet of clay’ every now and then.  I love that saying and it is very true.  So why have I chosen it as today’s blog post?  It’s because I have huge clay feet, in fact I think I have concrete feet some days.

A while ago, an acquaintance read one of my posts and said  ‘Aw, you sound like such a good mum!’ which was lovely, but I fear if I’m giving that impression all the time, I’m misleading you all terribly.

On Friday my son came home from nursery and I didn’t know what do with him.  So he played Lego Batman.  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that?!’ I hear you say.  Well……he played Lego Batman from 1pm till 6pm with ocassional loo breaks.  We played the game together at points, but mostly I drifted in and out of the living room with random bits of washing and sat on my puter talking to other people who sound like really good mums, while my son sat in the other room bashing lego men to pieces.  I supplied food and drinks, and cuddles when I ambled through and he threw his arms out shouting ‘Huddle!’  But that was it, for about 5 guilt-ridden hours.

He was happy, I was bored.  Mum was being very lax, make no mistake.  I switched the game off eventually when he padded upstairs to talk to me whilst on the loo, with his eyes wide as saucers he said ‘Found another mini-kit mummy!’ and babbled about Poisonous Ivy or whatever her name is. He looked like his whole world had become lego infested.   That’s not being an exemplary example of a doting mother is it?  That’s someone virtually allowing their child to be adopted by a Playstation 3.

Yesterday I decided to have some quality time with my daughter.  Horace went over to the other house to heft bricks about and hammer stuff, while I stayed with Darlek.  She wanted to have a go on our Xbox Kinect game so I went along with that.  I went ‘Woo!’ at the appropriate bits when it looked like her bounding around the living room was winning her points, and clapped every now and then.  To my shame, my next step was to fall soundly asleep in a heap on the sofa with a blanket.  For about an hour.  I’d had a lie in, I had no excuse.  Darlek had spent quality time with the X box, mum had spent quality time with a snuggly blanket.

I have made lazy meals most of this week for the family as I’m still on this Jenny Craig diet so my enthusiasm for cooking is pretty low.  In fact I have perfected a 3 tin meal, the ultimate in crappy cooking.  Empty one tin of lentil soup into a pan, empty another tin of stewed steak into it. Heat.  Mix.  Feed to kids.  For dessert, tinned peaches.  There was none left for Horace, he had frozen pizza for tea that he cooked himself because I beggared off for a bath.  The perfect wife & domestic goddess?  Nope.

To my shame, this morning I buttered some toast with the wrong end of a fork because I’d forgotten to put the dishwasher on and I couldn’t be bothered to wash a knife.  It didn’t work very well and I have done this many times before.  Moi?  Lazy?

The bathroom needs cleaning. Horace resembles a yeti at times, and when he washes his hair he always leaves strands of long hair in the bath.  Rather than fishing them out, I simply used the shower head to blast them down the plughole.  Our bath isn’t draining very well.  Wonder why?

Half of our bedroom floor in the attic is unnavigable, because after the day is done I can’t be arsed to neatly fold and arrange clothes.  I am cultivating clothes drifts.  Imagine the Artic with all its peaks and troughs & drifts of snow, substitute the snow with twice worn jeans and tops with dinner on them.  Nice.

Next to my bed I have two towers of books, approximately 15 of them I think.  Most half read, many to be read again – all of which lack bookmarks so I never know where I’m up to.  I never get around to putting them back on the bookcase because if I try I’ll undoubtedly fall over the clothes drift and drop them.

It does get worse, and the frustrating thing is I try so hard.  The other weekend Horace went over to his mum’s, and I quite simply stayed home to catch up.  Not meaning to bore you but….I cleaned the bathroom, hoovered the entire house, did about 6 loads of washing, put all the dry washing away, dusted (I never dust!),   tidied rooms, emptied bins, changed all the beds, did all the washing up, gutted the kitchen….and frankly ran round in circles an awful lot.  And now, you’d never know.  I hate housework, it should be banned.  I want to live in a tent.  You don’t need to dust in tents and there’s no room for clothes drifts.  You’ve never heard of ‘Tentwork’ have you now?

So, that’s me signing off for the evening.  And before I go let me describe my puter desk to you.  One empty mug, one crumby plate, one free range Spiderman disc, one empty cellotape dispenser, an empty picture frame, paper bills, paper blogging notes, one glove, another glove (different pair), a book to review, an empty notebook case, a half written note book, 2p, a christmas card, my puter notebook (out of case), one sweet wrapper, a pen, a small jewellery box without a lid, an elastic band, an empty bag that used to have cookies in it, and there’s probably more.  I have just enough room on the slide out drawer beneath it to fit my keyboard and my mouse (soon to run out of batteries or cheese or whatever it runs on).

I have no idea why my family don’t just take me to the second hand mum shop and swap me for another better, faster, more efficient new mum.   So you see, I have feet of clay, don’t ever let me kid you otherwise…..