The LTLP is electrocuted!!!
A short cry followed by silence from the scullery announces this fact. I look up from the TV with interest.
“Would you come here a minute?” demands a voice in a weaker-than-usual timbre.
I pick up the Baby and head for the voice.
“Do not bring the Baby.”
I replace the Baby. We meet in the connecting corridor. She explains that she has received a large shock from the sink. I push past her and poke my head round the door. The sink is there, an innocuous look on its face.
The short cry was real enough. I realise that I will have to perform some tests. Not having much electricians’ gear in the shed, I am nevertheless able to locate a diagnostic tool which consists of five long strips of bone, each sleeved in a layer of skin, connected to the end of my arm.
The sink smiles coyly at me.
I place my hand about an inch from its metal surface, slowly moving it closer, millimetre by millimetre. Everybody knows that things hurt less if you do it like this – it is probably the mix of metric and imperial units. I touch the sink and nothing happens. I grin, reassured.
Recklessly, I remove my shoes and do the same.
“OOOAARGHHHHYOOOY!!!” I comment.
There is a sort of noise, which I take to be the insolent laughter of a domestic fitting.
Bough’s Law states that when something surprising or unexpected happens as a consequence of a repeatable action then you shall mindlessly repeat the action, no matter how unpleasant the previous consequence.
“OOOAARGHHHHYOOOY!!!” I reaffirm.
“The sink is live,” I carefully explain to the LTLP. I have an idea, and switch off the lights in the sunroom, which have been behaving oddly. I return to the scullery and touch the sink again. It is pitifully impotent.
“That is interesting,” I muse. “When the lights in the other room are switched off the sink is normal. But when they’re switched on, it gets all electric.”
There is a silence. “That could be useful,” I continue.
The LTLP glares at me. I pick up the telephone to call the Methodical Builder.