On Wednesday we got around to doing a wash, but it's been raining constantly so we had to hang it up inside.
As consciousness slowly took hold like the lifting of a winter mist, I strained to make out the bedside clock and saw it was 9.30am Thursday morning.
Did my wife wish to see "Wimbledon" (the film)?
This was a noble offer designed to win a fistful of brownie points.
She was keen but my nobility was diminished when I insisted getting it over and done with (hopefully not those exact words, I can't remember) by watching the 10am session.
She was less keen but eventually agreed. It was 9.35am. I said she'd have time for brekky and I could have a quick shower.
Then it hit me - I was out of underwear! The only clean pairs were also still hanging up wet.
Not to be thwarted I turned on the oil heater and dumped the undies on it.
One shower later I emerged hopefully to find the heater still wasn't even hot. It was 9.50am and I had no undies, and no future. In that dark moment I began to understand Joe Simpson. I too touched the void, a place of no hope, no light, and no underwear.
I'm an ideas man, I like to think. Not a practical man, but certainly an ideas man. In that dark moment (between 9.49am and 9.49am 10 seconds) I knew that only an ingenious idea could get me out of this one.
"Honey, I'm going to try grilling my underwear, ok?"
All she said was to make sure I put down some alfoil first.
The alternative - to have grilled cheese scented underwear - was tempting, but I chose compliance for the sake of time.
Time being short, I put the electric grill on full power. I spread the undies out as far as I could to maximise surface area. Some quick mental calculations using the Stefan-Boltzmann Law of Radiation gave me some cause for optimism.
After a couple of minutes I turned them over.
An acrid smell wafted up to my nostrils. "I cannae hold her anymore Captain, she's going to blow!" words of warning echoed in my consciousness.
My undies proved equal to the Enterprise. I waited for a few more seconds, then rescued them before they caught fire.
Now was crunch time, so to speak. I slowly put the underwear on.
The poor undies! The elastic had indeed been singed and slightly shrunk. At several points they had broken through the cotton and clung tenaciously to my waist, like a traumatised baby returned to its mother and refusing to be parted.
Nevertheless, by and large, the undies were quite functional.
I threw on the rest of my clothes and we drove off.
We ended up seeing the 10.30am session, and I enjoyed the film after all, but that's another story.
As far as I can see from the web, I'm the first to attempt this.
For the record, I'm not endorsing this drying method.
