Are friends electric?

It doesn't take a genius to spot the slight error in laying the pipework from the stream to the black tank that supplies the animals. This job has been on the to do list since last autumn when the tanks were moved and the trees felled. In fits and starts one tank was placed back where it came from, several different schemes were tried to fill it, one being the pump in the well. First pump was too weak, second was just the job but the cable was severed on numerous occasions by lorries, tractors, dogs, sheep and bored goats. Given the cost of armoured cable any plan to permanently wire the well into the mains was rejected and yesterday the age old method of water flowing downhill was reinstated as the only reliable way of providing water to the critters and garden. The slight trickle of water flowing along the 20mm pipe amounts to 500 gallons a day available for collection. This is a mere fraction compared to the flow that supplies the fish tanks. The final stage involved laying a new piece of pipe between the fences, a job that would have been easier if a moron hadn't have been in charge. Sensing there may be a slight problem closing the gate the pipes were disconnected, rerouted and all was well.

So it was with some sense of trepidation that my beautiful and oh so patient wife held a torch for me today as I took on another monster job on the jobs list, putting up electric lights in the Berner annex. This should be a simple task, even for a moron. Knowing the dangers of self combustion associated with all things electrical I took the precaution of buying new wire, new lights and even a new screwdriver to replace the hammer I would normally use. The dining table served as our operations room. I inspected the newly purchased light, noting that you had to drill a hole in it for the wires to go in, not a problem. Then I saw you had to drill further holes to secure it to the ceiling or wall. When I found you needed hands the size of a Hamster and a screwdriver borrowed from a Smurf to be able to get behind the light fitting to be able to attach the wires alongside a degree in Chinese to read the instructions I suddenly felt I was in for a long afternoon.

A reflective cup of tea led to a search of the hoarders drawers. I am a first class hoarder, cannot bear to throw anything away on the just in case principle. At the bottom of the biggest drawer, right at the back, were two light fittings. Ha! The do it yourself lights were put back on the shelf and the nice and easy light fittings were pressed into service. Now, when the Berner annex was assembled we knocked into an area of the cottage commonly referred to as the black hole, on account no natural light has ever made its way there. The wiring for the lights was kept intact, as was the switch gear. All yours truly had to do was to wire the new light fitting onto the end of the original wire, put a new piece of wire along the ceiling to a second light fitting, flick the switch and tah dah! Light where there was darkness. Except there wasn't.

Once the mains circuit was reactivated and everything else came back to life, the light bulbs in the Berner annex refused to glow. Even with yours truly flicking the switch like a demented rat in a Skinnarian conditioning experiment failed to give the slightest glimmer of hope. But I pressed on.

By now I was having a serious sense of humour failure, not helped by having to climb onto Mr Whirlpool the freezer every time I wanted to turn the mains electric on or off. Tracey stood patiently holding the torch shedding light on my antics. She did ask helpful questions like "Where does this wire go?" pointing to one the opposite of the door whilst I demonstrated yet again the ineffectiveness of my work, taking a switch apart, quite what for I really don't know, an Orangutan could have fell out of it and I would have thought that normal. So as I looked at the mass of wires hoping to see a big label and arrow saying "This is the problem" Tracey's "Are you sure that's the right switch?" comments were not considered helpful.

Standing on the freezer for the fifth time to turn on the electric yet again to see if my fiddling had made any difference at all, Tracey heaved a sigh, turned the torch off, reached around the doorway and flicked a switch the other side of the frame. The lights came on. She smiled, the smile of victory and made me a cup of tea while I put the wrong switch back together again.