electrofried (mr) finds himself in choppy waters

Dear Browsers and Browserettes,

I do trust you've had a good day. Here at the House of Electrofried I regret to say "choppy waters" have been encountered.

The story unfolds

It all started innocuously enough, as things often do, during morning ablutions. Fetlock the Butler had run the bath early, our plumbing having coughed up its customary tepid discharge in suitably bad-tempered style from the innermost workings of the House boiler. Young Fetlock, however, had an effluviant surprise in store, courtesy of mrs electrofried's most recent visit to the Little Wittering branch of "Body Shop".

It took the form of a bath-based scud missile that delivered its bizarre payload of scratchy-bottomed bath salts and mouldy rose petals whilst yours truly was in search of mr duckie and the yellow submarine. Bath toys are one thing, weapons of mass distraction quite another.

At the Breakfast Table

"That Ann Summers woman has much to answer for!", I remarked over the subsequent breakfast table, recalling the impact of "Body Shop's" super-strength bath suppository on my morning ablutions. I suspect, from the barely muted chuckling of teenygoth (the youngest fruit of our loins), that a case of mistaken identity was a distinct possibility.

Undeterred, and breakfast kippers having been duly despatched, I resolved to take refuge for the day in the House laboratory facilities - the concept of bath-time entertainment having sparked off, eureka-like, an idea so cunning you could pop a snout on it and call it mr fox of foxville.

A day of banging, sawing and general mayhem

We will pass lightly over the travails of the day. Suffice to say, intemperate expressions such as "Darn you, Sirrah" and similar such expletives punctuated the air at regular intervals as work progressed apace within the House laboratory.

Mrs electrofried will bear witness to my somewhat limited practical abilities, but notwithstanding, the task was at long last completed. I made haste toward the electrofried "en suite" with invention in tow - the time had come for the grand launch!

The "Unveiling"

A little over an hour later, the assembled populace of the House was ushered in by Fetlock, Cook having been instructed earlier to lay on a small, but tasty spread, to mark the maiden voyage.

"What on earth have you got up to this time?" enquired the good lady, mrs electrofried, as she took up battle with one of Cook's newly-minted cucumber sandwiches. Teenygoth, meanwhile, snorted derisively, as only young ladies of her age can.

"It's a natural, but innovative development of the i-pod, my dear." I announced, tugging off the tartan blanket that covered my newly-constructed artifice. "Behold, I give you the ... u-pod!!"

"Oh my goodness ..." retorted mrs electrofried as she cast eyes for the very first time on the gleaming metal-framed contraption that occupied much of the electrofried bath, "... what have you done?" I opened the taps full cock and the waters began to rise inexorably.

"The u-pod, my dearest, takes the humble MP3 player to the next level of enjoyment. It combines the very latest in multi-media technology with more traditional bath-time related entertainment."

With a grand flourish I unfastened the small leather valise by the side of the bath and drew out the remote control mechanism. Gripping this miracle of micro-technology firmly in both hands I pressed the master switch. To the collective gasp of the assembled populace a small, but familiar bath-time toy emerged from the top of the u-pod to the strains of "Yellow Submarine".

Shipping in Water

It was at this point teenygoth began to giggle. The metal-framed artifice now sat in several inches of tepid bathwater and she had noticed emanating from its base, a small, but persistent, stream of bubbles.

Pointing to this gaseous escape, she observed pithily, that my beloved u-pod appeared to be suffering from sub-aqua flatulence. I was not best amused, particularly as the dulcet tones of the Beatles had now taken on a somewhat less than jaunty air.

"Looks like you've sprung a leak, dad!" and indeed the young lady was right - the u-pod was shipping in water in Titanic proportions.

Rushing across to the bath, I rescued the u-pod from a watery grave and set it to rest in the middle of the floor. The metalled artifice sat forlornly in a spreading puddle, its internal workings now stilled and silent. Grimly I reached for my complimentary Ikea Allen key and began to unbolt the master-panel at the front.

"Electrofried!!" shrieked my good lady as the master-panel fell loose revealing the contents within. "What's my Victrola doing in there?????"

Tears before Bedtime

Sadly, the fortunes of the House of Electrofried seem unlikely to be restored by the u-pod. Brilliant though its design features are (and how many modern-day devices can claim a walnut-clad music-centre as their beating heart) the test-launch suggests considerable further development work is required.

The Victrola now stands drying before Cook's Aga. Mrs electrofried's weekly DJ slot at the local Womens' Institute ("Loud, Proud and Home-baked") is but a few days away and without her trusty phonograph to fire up the massed boom-boxes of Little Wittering all will be lost.

Meanwhile I have been banished to the Tower as penance. I await the arrival of teenygoth with stale bread and, doubtless, an ironic mug of stale bath water. Pray spare a thought for me as I set my mind to the next cunning invention that will secure the ongoing viability of the House.

best regards.

electrofried (mr)

p.s please do forgive my somewhat random addition of the photograph of an Alium head at the beginning of this most turgid pasting. It comes from Volume 98 of the electrofried family album and an overwhelming sense of curiousity, having just discovered inadvertantly the "photo-add" function in Blogger. Would readers like me to add further photographic offerings in due course?