Years ago I was ill in bed, did'nt know it till later but it was pneumonia, my one and only chest complaint, I certainly have never had many complaints in the chest department, but that's another story.
Richard was downstairs coping as best he could, and it was before his stroke or anything else, so I trusted him to get on with it while I succumbed to self pity.How silly was I?
He brought the wash basket and tipped it on to the bed, for me to sort, I put on my poorliest face then changed it to supreme martyrdom and sorted it. " The fridge is making a funny noise" He said. " Well I can't sort that can I" I said." Try moving it a bit it might not be level"
5 mins later, " I've moved it, it's still making a funny noise"
"well clear it out and put stuff back in, I need SLEEP"
10 minutes later, " still squeaking "
" WELL TURN IT OFF LEAVE IT OFF FOR CRYING OUT LOUD"
5 minutes later " It's off, unplugged, but the bloody thing is still squeaking, do you think a mouse is stuck underneath?"
I dragged my aching body out of bed and downstairs.
I could hear the squeak as soon as I got in the kitchen, I could also see what it was.
He'd only left his hearing aid, switched on, on top of the fridge.