Helpline.

 By 'holding on', they mean the receiver, i assume: they Should be liable when i throw it at someone. 'Thank you for waiting, we appreciate the Time and Patience you have spent anticipating us beginning this sentence again.' If what i can hear in the background was actual, genuine Straight From-the-Whales Birthing Music, i could not be more annoyed, O operatives of the Washing Machine Repair Line. Even if i was giving birth. To my Firstborn. On that drip they give you when the baby is goading you from the womb to give him his Birthday presents TWO WEEKS LATE every year. With the Birthing Staff present at my Youngest's birth, who suddenly announced that this was a Good Time to push because 'the head is coming round the corner.' Round The Corner? Why is there a Corner? Tell me the truth- you're seen it's me on Caller ID- you know that this Washing Machine, with its Multiple Replacement Parts, is as near to the Original One sold to me, as whatever Fluffy Tusked Bun- Junkie they'll claim to have reproduced from Freezer-Safe DNA snippets will be to a Woolly Mammoth. Without the claims i make, yearly on his repair policy, you could afford to double the size of the office Christmas Party. And move it to Antigua. By Mammoth. (Flying, yes, Resurrection went horribly wrong.) But, tough, keeping me on my knees in the shed is what i'm paying you for- yes, i've read that back- so, Hayley, Marcus, Kim, put that synth down, and answer the phone- hello? Yes? A week on Wednesday? Right, and in the meantime? Regular interaction with my mother. Right. Now, if you could just transfer me back to the lovely tunes, and turn it up, more, louder- i can still hear screaming-...cheers.