The story of the fridge, the liar and the king
The fridge is ours, the one of the famous false alarm a few weeks ago, which stopped working and then started again…. and then stopped again (after I had written a blog post about its miraculous recovery)
The liar is the repairman we never met, so called by our concierge who contacted him on our behalf, and then told us every morning, less and less hopefully, that he would come bukra –tomorrow (one of the first and most important Arabic words I ever learnt.)
The king is another repairman we never met, so called by our very helpful English speaking neighbour, who contacted him after a week had past and neither the liar or tomorrow had come. He said if the king couldn’t fix the fridge then no-one could. The king, over the phone, said that we should unplug it for 12 hours and plug it in again- basically defrost it. But, and this is the secret, use a different plug ( maybe my husband was right about the electricity being the problem after all).
We followed the king’s advice to the letter and to our great amazement our fridge came back from the dead. To celebrate its revival we bought half a kilo of ice cream for us and a box of chocolates for our neighbour and that was the end of that-khallas- as the Lebanese say (another one of those vital Arabic words).
Or so we thought.
Ironically just after finally getting round to writing this post, I discovered that the ice cream had melted again.
Watch this space for the next installment of the fridge saga…