FAST FREEZE BUTTON
At least there’s a fridge. Which would come as something of a surprise to people renting an unfurnished apartment in Nice, because there unfurnished means you get walls, floors and a ceiling. (And sometimes you’re lucky to find those).
Soon after I arrived on the Riviera a guy I knew took me to view the apartment he and his wife wanted to let out. It was a great size and had a small patio area off the kitchen. The trouble was, that’s all the kitchen did have. Other than a sink. Which believe me, was a small touch of luxury in France. There was no cooker, there were no cupboards, no counter tops. No fridge. It’ll only cost you a couple of thousand euros to put it all in, he chirped. Won’t relate here what I chirped back. (Not entirely sure how to spell it).
Here in the UK, unfurnished means no furniture. Or crockery and cutlery, bed linen and towels. But the white goods in the kitchen are (happily) not regarded as ‘furniture’, and are generally provided.
So, back to the fridge. Looks great – chic silver in colour, fridge on top, freezer below. And very effective they are, too.
This is probably down to the fact that the appliance has 7 gears, can do a mighty impressive nought to -15 degrees in .6 of a second and is driven by Jenson Button.
How do I know? Well, I’ve been sitting in my living room minding my own business (alright then, looking at Twitter every thirty seconds to read more about the mysterious Premiership footballer who’s suing the site for allowing contributors to reveal the name of the mysterious Premiership footballer who’s suing Twitter for his name being revealed on the site. Hope that’s clear), when all of a sudden:
AND IT’S BUTTON INTO THE LEAD IN THE SILVER SERVIS, JUST EDGING AHEAD OF THE ELECTROLUX HOB…AND AS THEY NEGOTIATE THE BEND FROM THE KITCHEN TO THE LIVING ROOM – BIT OF A TRICKY ONE, THE OVEN BURNT ITSELF OUT THERE LAST YEAR – THE FRIDGE PULLS AWAY AND SPRINTS DOWN THE LENGTH OF THE PERSIAN RUG IN THE LIVING ROOM…
What do you mean, am I nuts??? Do I ask you that kind of question???
[NB: Readers of Driving Over Ex-Pats by Not Nice Etoile’s alter-ego, Nice Etoile, won’t be at all surprised that you have suspicions of this. They believe they have had more than one occasion to suspect as much themselves. However, if you’re new to these blogs, let me tell you – all the subscribers of the other blog are completely and totally bonkers (honest) and thus their opinion cannot be taken seriously. You can trust me, I’m completely impartial. Glad we cleared that one up].
No, I’m no more hatstand than a Premiership footballer suing Twitter for breach of privacy, thus ensuring his name is instantaneously the most un-private it has even been in the history of names that nobody at all knows about, apart from everybody.
Want to hear my fridge??? Well, go to your window, open slightly and listen…is that not the sound of a Formula 1 racing
fridge car zooming around the Monaco track??? It is. Down to the bikini-clad blondes lying atop the vehicles at all the photo opportunities. (You must be familiar with that noise, it’s the thud of unused brain cells sliding off the highly-buffed and precious shiny things – I mean cars and girls – down onto the ground; common at all such events frequented by men with large amounts of money and IQs smaller than their collar size).
The first time the loud fridge revving and gear-changing happened I leapt up onto the dining table, so certain was I that I was standing in the middle of the pits. (And how right I was – my life really has been the pits recently. And wait until you hear what I have to tell you about my latest adventures in Rental Land in a future post…)
Anyway, I’m trying to forgive the thing as it’s actually the Monaco Grand Prix next week and it’s probably endeavouring to make me feel at home here in breezy London, since I was in Monaco every day for last year’s race. Such sensitivity in an appliance is hard to find these days.
I’m just wondering what state the milk’s going to be in once it gets back from Monte Carlo at the beginning of June.