Let There be Light

The Estonian poet Jaan Kaplinski wrote that 'Life is just an endless work of repair.' As I toil away in my cellar I often mull over his wise words.

A few days ago I thought I'd snatch five minutes of relaxation with The Sunday Times crossword.
I switched on the reading-lamp. Nothing.

The bulb, I thought. Nothing, though, as simple as an Osram 60 watt effort from the nearest shop. This was a halogen bulb and a 15-mile trip to B&Q was needed. As I usually think of everything (and more) I decided to take the old bulb with me to match it with the replacement. But I couldn't remove the circular glass to get at the bulb. Six screwdrivers later the glass finally flew off and landed (amazingly) on a soft surface.

At B&Q I was faced with ranked multitudes of bulbs. Eventually the correct one was tracked down. Or should I say, the correct two? I was forced to buy a pack of two. I'm not sure why.

Back home I manipulated the tiny prongs of one of the new bulbs into the lamp and turned on the switch at the wall. Nothing.

I guessed therefore that the plug needed a new fuse. And I had one of those! I bent down to take the plug from the socket and discovered - I couldn't. One edge of the plug was obstructed by a piece of furniture and that piece of furniture was a bookcase taller than myself. And, apart from some outsize books, that bookcase contained some 400 CDs (and a collection of cassettes).

Keeping as calm as possible I carried the lot across the room and painstakingly manoeuvred the bookcase out of its corner. Then there was about 13 years of dessicated spider web to hoover up.

At last I got the new fuse into the plug and turned on the switch at the wall. Nothing.

Could the lamp be buggered? Was the new bulb dud? Where next? The wine rack?

Despairing on my knees I noticed something I'd completed forgotten about because I'd never used it. On the electric cable, about halfway between the plug and the lamp, was a switch. I pressed it and the room was flooded with light.

So I needn't have lugged the bookcase about; I needn't have transported the CDs across the room; I needn't have driven 15 miles to B&Q (and back). All that was needed was to switch the thing on.

At times I feel kind of cursed but Mik tells me everyone lives like this.

Do they?

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