No Vacuum
It's dead. Our first-generation Dyson, De Stijl edition in its custom colours of yellow, purple and orange. It is no more. It is an ex-vacuum.
I should be thankful it lasted as long as it has. Purchased for about 20 quid, it's functioned admirably for a long time, but you could see some broken bits and lots of wear, and realise its days among the realm of working appliances were numbered.
The end came whilst cleaning Sarah's room. After we'd cleared out years of accumulated toys and rubbish, when the last of the dust and long blonde hairs were safely quarantined in the bagless interior, I hoisted it over her bed and turned it off. But when I next turned it on, nothing happened. Apparently the task of cleaning Sarah's room defeated it. If I slap its side I might get a quick wheeze of the motor when I power it on, but I think I have to accept its passing.
But those of you who know my tidy nature are perhaps aware of the loss this represents to me. Sarah can shower crumbs from her mouth onto our carpet, Margo can tromp bits of dirt and grass through the house ... and there's nothing I can do about it!
Please, spare a thought for me. Trapped in a house with two savages, fighting a constant battle against entropy, and now deserted by my most powerful weapon.
I should be thankful it lasted as long as it has. Purchased for about 20 quid, it's functioned admirably for a long time, but you could see some broken bits and lots of wear, and realise its days among the realm of working appliances were numbered.
The end came whilst cleaning Sarah's room. After we'd cleared out years of accumulated toys and rubbish, when the last of the dust and long blonde hairs were safely quarantined in the bagless interior, I hoisted it over her bed and turned it off. But when I next turned it on, nothing happened. Apparently the task of cleaning Sarah's room defeated it. If I slap its side I might get a quick wheeze of the motor when I power it on, but I think I have to accept its passing.
But those of you who know my tidy nature are perhaps aware of the loss this represents to me. Sarah can shower crumbs from her mouth onto our carpet, Margo can tromp bits of dirt and grass through the house ... and there's nothing I can do about it!
Please, spare a thought for me. Trapped in a house with two savages, fighting a constant battle against entropy, and now deserted by my most powerful weapon.
posted by Michael Nelson at 5:15 am
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