Grab your coat and get your hat....

....leave your worry on the doorstep

Just direct your feet

To the sunny side of the street.*

I'm not going to bore you here with the seemingly endless saga of my friend's move from a house to an apartment. After literally years of 'will she do it' or 'won't she'; today 'she did it'. She moved from her house of thirty-five years to a very smart nearby apartment. We three friends were on hand to assist. In her mind I think we were moral support at a time of stress.

It was not a copybook move. Far from it. Cartons were packed but none was labelled. Which cartons contained her clothing and which contained the bed linen? Your guess is as good as mine. What was going and what was being discarded? We didn't know and nor it seemed, at times, did she.

The removalists filled their van and delivered the goods to the new address all by lunchtime today. Did they capture everything? Well, no. A microwave and a vacuum cleaner were left behind. Oh, and when we checked again, so were three large garden pots and at least three trays full of domestic cleaning material. And then there was the huge print of the harbour on the wall. How had that been missed?

But wait, there was more. Two cupboards full of pots and pans and saucers. And a step ladder; actually two of them. And what about that decorative container with the ashes of a dead pet? Yes, that was missed as well.

No. It wasn't a copybook move but its done now. Well, the delivery part is done. Now for the unpacking.

(* 'On The Sunny Side of the Street' by Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields)

DIY

I'm always in admiration - but not envious - of Andrew and his Do It Yourself attitude and abilities. He solves many problems with his own hands and no doubt also saves himself considerable maintenance costs.

I've never had an aptitude for DIY. It has never interested me, although I have noticed that DIY types are often rather delicious looking.

This morning I was ready to depart for my volunteer work at the hospital. It was 6.20am and it was dark. The sun was still to rise. Sitting in my car I pressed the remote control for the garage door to open. It rose several centimetres and then froze. I pressed the remote again and the door closed. I pressed the remote once more and it opened only to again freeze several centimetres up.

In a scene fitting for a Marx Bothers movie I repeated this loop - open and close, open and close - another four or five times finally conceding that something was wrong and someone must fix it.

It took a while for me to find the documentation for the garage door. Actually, I didn't find it. I noted the name of the garage door device and looked the company up on the internet. There was a 1300 number to call. I called it and a recorded voice told me (in effect) to wait for their business hours which commence at 8am. Only on weekdays. Bad luck if your door jams on a weekend or worse still on a public holiday long weekend.

At 8am, I called the number back. I was offered the choice of two repairer/dealers. One located 49 kilometres away and the other 16 kilometres away. Guess which one I chose. I rang his number. He asked me numerous questions about my device including colours of buttons on the remote and the wall pad. I dislike these questions. I have colour defective vision (colourblind) and always have a sense of uselessness when a tradie or call centre asks me (for example) 'is the displayed light red or green'?

'I'll be there by 12 noon', the repairer assured me. Filling in time I noticed a rusted spring on the garage floor and nearby a small ring which seems to have snapped away from it. Looking further at the door itself and I noticed one newish looking spring at the eastern end of the door and no spring at all on the western end. Even my non-DIY mind registered that the problem may be a broken spring.

The repairer called from his car to announce his arrival around 11.15am. Good sign, he was on time, even a little earlier than promised.

A quick examination of the 'crime scene' and some chat about his latest golf holiday to Las Vegas and Palm Springs followed and within about 20 minutes my garage door had a new spring on its western side. My forensic assessment had been correct.

$231. Yep, a new spring and 15 minutes labour plus the holiday chat.

The door works better (smoother) than ever now.

I took the repairers business card. He was on time and he fixed the problem. That's all I need to become a loyal customer.

He wasn't as good looking as the DIY man in the photograph nor was he better looking than Andrew either.