When the fridge took a holiday


We went away for two weeks. Giddy with the excitement of seeing blue skies, we checked the house three times, each person doing a separate lap to re-adjust the half-drawn curtains, rattle window handles or tighten the taps so that not a single drop of water would escape.

On the way back, the air stewardess announced that the UK was indeed cold and dreary. We would need to switch the heating on full when we got home, the house would be cold. We needed our coats. They were in the car, half an hour away from the airport. It was okay – we could handle a bit of rain.

We decided who would be on heating duty, unloading duty, unpacking duty and tea duty (tea duty is the most sacred of all duties after two weeks away, a lot of pressure rests on the tea-maker’s shoulders). One member of our party (who shall remain anonymous) absent mindedly said they would need to flick the electricity on before we could make tea.

The realisation dawned on us as we chewed on our plane grapes and wrestled our plane bread. The aforementioned member of our party (who shall remain anonymous) looked at us in silent horror. They clapped their palm on their forehead with the kind of might that could have sent a plane seat into permanent recline.

The fridge had been off for two weeks.

Someone would be subbed from tea duty to mopping duty.

We would have to wait until we could have tea.

We were helplessly trapped on a plane for a few more hours and could do absolutely nothing to save our fridge from the spicy neopolitan puddle speckled with deflated profiteroles that was forming around it.

We arrived home around 5 hours later and rushed to the fridge to find Ben and Jerry perched on the top shelf of the freezer, in a mezzanine state somewhere between solid and liquid.

Not bad for two weeks off.



It was abroad, it doesn’t count

I pride myself on never having received a speeding ticket in the UK. So I arrived in Germany and rented a car. My first driving experience here was safe in the knowledge there were no speed limits. I got comfortable behind the wheel of my Ford Fiesta, turned on the engine, stalled and almost hit the pillar in the car park. It was a very close call. A few hours later, after adjusting to driving on the wrong side of the road, I was driving casually on the motorway, with no visible speed limit in sight other than the GPS changing at unpredictable intervals.

Out of nowhere, a 60kph speed restriction came into force on the motorway with no speed limit. With one arm on the wheel and another scratching my ear, a bright flash from the camera caught me off guard. Hand in ear, I turned to the passenger and we sat in silence, confused and a little dazed.

This memorable road trip ended with about 800km covered, a full tank of petrol costing about 50 pounds, my first speeding ticket (it was abroad- doesn’t count) and the cherry: a late fee for driving an hour over my 24 hour hire period.

–Ven 30/08/15

Lesson 1: do not anger the goats

A couple of us were trekking just outside of Cusco, Peru. All was going well, we had seen various ruins and were in good spirits on our way back. However, we somehow managed to wander right into the middle of a massive flock of sheep.

Turning around to walk back out, I encountered a goat staring straight at me. It grunted. Falling back upon the mountain of advice I had been given should I ever encounter an angry goat, I knew I should stay calm and back away. Three seconds later, as I ran like a hunted gazelle, I absolutely creamed my foot on a rock. This would later be confirmed as a stress fracture.

–Prem – 28/08/15