A Clean Delivery

A couple of weeks ago, the washing machine was still going grunge-grunge-grunge but wasn't actually washing, spinning or doing any of the things we'd bought it for.
Now I know that many white goods are cynically manufactured to die irreparably 3 days after their first birthday so that they are out of warranty and the luckless customers have to buy a new one. As it happens, this really isn't the case with us. Our first one was £100 out of the repair shop and lasted 11 years before being replaced (still working) with this one, which lasted 8.
When I scooted back home, the delivery lorry was already there and I investigated the hole left by the old machine. It had a couple of mouse poos from the last mouse (long flushed) and the chaps got to work installing the new one, once we'd cleaned it out a bit. It's bigger and can fit 2 cats, 3 if they aren't those awful hairy ones.
They said we had to put it on a hot wash - but empty - to clean out its pipes so we did that, while we went to Wednesday Park. Nobody came again. I sat on the stairs in the barn (out of the drizzle) with LittleMax and Owen, playing Minecraft. We shouted "Blow it up! Blow it up!" so loudly the woman in charge of the junior dance class told us to all go and sit where she could see us so we ran away. BensMum said that Wednesday Park still isn't on a Wednesday, only when the sun turns white and the moon blue.