I Think Your Days Are Numbered

My doorbell is freaking me out.

Seriously.

Over the last year or so it has developed the ability to go off untouched.

I’ve had it to bits, I’ve changed the battery more times than some people change their underwear, and I’ve threatened to trade it in for a younger, buff, well-fit, sexier model (oops [blush], got carried away there, and over a doorbell – what’s wrong with me?!).

All goes quiet for quite a while and then...

Ding dong.

Bastard’s done it twice this afternoon. It’s making me look like a curtain twitcher (stop with the sniggering, Eldest Daughter...), because I’ve given up opening the door only to find no-one there.

So far, and I know I’m tempting fate by saying this, [whispering] it hasn’t done it during the night.

If it starts doing that,

it will be pining for the fjords,

it will cease to be (with the aid of a hammer, or my foot),

it will go to meet its maker (at the bottom of the bin),

it will be pushing up the shite from the depths of the landfill,

it will be

(aaall together nowww)

an ex-doorbell.


Then I’ll go get myself one hell of a sexy beast of a doorbell.

From B&Q.