Until our dishwasher broke down I’d forgotten how nice it was to do the washing up.
I’ve now been assigned, by you-know-who, to be in charge of dirty dishes until further notice.
The duration of this mission depends on which comes first: my enthusiasm waning (as happens with my fads) or a repairman fixing the dishwasher.
The date of either outcome is hard to predict.
But it’s given me time to immerse myself in thoughts about whether it is cheaper to wash by hand than continue with our dishwasher.
After all, we are all thinking about ingenious ways of reducing our energy bills in this horrific cost of living crisis.
Cancelling Netflix won’t solve energy price crunch https://t.co/1JSWx7ykkE | opinion
— Financial Times (@FT) April 22, 2022
I will study our next monthly energy bill with great interest to see if my efforts have watered down these stinging cost rises.
On the face of it, washing by hand would instinctively seem a cheaper option than an electro-guzzler like a dishwasher.
Could I be helping drain the Earth’s will to live?
So I could actually be draining our finances, and the Earth’s will to live, even more than I thought.
I must make something crystal-clear amid all this talk of washing up: the research was financed by a company manufacturing dishwasher tablets.
Soaking our hands in hot sudsy water is one of life’s pleasures, and pays dividends in unexpected ways as far as mental wellbeing is concerned.
If you have enough hours to spare there is a small mountain of academic work by psychologists – as big as a pile of unwashed dishes – on this very subject.
They conclude it’s similar to walking the dog or taking up painting: in this case, your mind drifts away along with the bubbles.
It reminds me of a time I used to help out on a market stall in deepest winter – and dash into the washrooms to plunge my freezing hands under the hot tap.
Fairy cleaning up with royal warrant
In the old days Fairy unashamedly targeted women as the main workhorses shouldering this daily drudgery.
Some of us might remember their old TV ad: “Hands that do dishes can be as soft as your face with mild green Fairy liquid.”
It would be called out as sexist now, but I have not seen any effects yet – my face and hands are like Brillo pads, so I have some way to go.
I’m in good company doing the dishes, though: I see Fairy has a royal warrant from the Queen.
I didn’t realise the Queen had been washing her own dishes for all these years, did you?
I find that trying to get kitchen appliances fixed is often a hit and miss affair.
We have one of those breakdown insurance policies which rolls together most of our white goods under one premium.
I am always asking if it’s worth it – the annual lump sum is far more than actual repairs, if any – but stick with it because I always fall for the “peace of mind” line.
Getting appliances fixed is a postcode lottery
They never seem to have the right part when they turn up and need a second appointment.
One visiting engineer let me into a little secret: he claimed 50% of parts ordered by the call centre – after initial contact from customers – are wrong.
Have you noticed how everyone we pay for a service wants us to go online these days, and stop bothering them in person?
I think this is because they have to rely on garbled, rambling assessments of faults by customers.
Trying to speak to a real person at the call centre is also hit and miss.
Have you noticed how everyone we pay for a service wants us to go online these days, and stop bothering them in person?
I can’t pull plug on policy
The banks started it all way before Covid by pretending we all preferred to do our financial chores online.
There is so much at stake now that I cannot pull the plug on my dishwasher and other kitchen insurance.
I’ve had it so long that everything is on the verge of packing up – and the policy will pay for shiny brand new replacements.
Our stove is 17 years-old, for pity’s sake; it’s one of those super fan-assisted cookers which attacks food like a military flamethrower.
I keep willing it to die so we can cash in.
A postcode lottery TV ad was playing in the background as I washed up.
We’re in that, too.
It is also like an insurance policy.
I can’t leave it in case the neighbours win – and I have to watch them celebrating without me at a street party.
I think it’s time I put the crocks away.
David Knight is the long-serving former deputy editor of The Press and Journal
