A Frost Free Reception and the Inconvenience of a Comet

For several days now I have been the subject of a frosty reception. Not from you, dear reader(s) for I bask in the glow of the odd words of interest and encouragement that trickle my way. Nor from the weather, inclement as it has been. I refer to matters refrigerant. Some days ago I noticed with concern that things were not quite as cold as they ought to be. Although nothing was approaching room temperature I nonetheless was a tad worried that the relative ambience in the fridge environment needed to be addressed. I seldom have to adjust the thermostatic dial even in summer so I increased the setting by a very small smidgeon. My euphoria at the resulting cool milk on my morning oats was short-lived when I discovered that my evening carrots and other constituents of my 5 a day healthy portions had succumbed to a rather bad dose of frostbite. Delicate tinkering with the flighty dial only succeeded in a wilder fluctuation in temperature than day and night in the Sahara Desert. 

Now the fridge along with it's matching freezer was an inheritance from my late mother. They had both stood my parents in good stead for many a long year and had served me faithfully for many years more. I had assumed, as one does, that the pair would carry on indefinitely since until now they had both been trouble free. True, they were a bit worn around the edges like myself but unlike me they had shown no sign of the odd component wearing out. With a heavy heart and a soon to be lighter bank balance I set about finding replacements. The kitchen in Chez Kojak is on the small side and the pair had had to be mounted one above the other a la fridge freezer style. I contemplated saving money by only purchasing a fridge but immediately discounted this as the replacement couldn't approach a match with the freezer and would stand out like a sore thumb. There was also a nagging doubt in my mind that if the aged fridge was feeling the chill of approaching death then the freezer would soon breath it's hoary last.

For the last couple of days I have been googling rather a lot. Not the astonished look kind of google but the internet variety. I thought I would use the ether to save some time and footwork in narrowing down my search for a likely replacement. In my search I came upon some surprising facts about the jargon used in serial numbers. I was relieved to find that the letters "FFS" stood for Frost Free Silver and not the more vulgar expletive commonly used by the hoi-polloi. Yesterday I had an appointment with the local surgery physiotherapist and continued on to my friendly farmer for milk & eggs. As usual they were occupied, this time with their tea break so they indicated that I should serve myself. I am now quite familiar with the dairy, the cold store and the tin for the money. I have even been in the entrance to the milking shed. One wonders where it will end. I would find milking the cows quite interesting but I draw the line at mucking out the cow byre.


As I was going to be out and about I had decided to continue on to a nearby retail park to suss out their refrigeration sections. I had armed myself with details of some likely models and was anxious to see them in the flesh. My first visit  was to Comet as the internet search had suggested one or two likely models. After a long and not very fruitful prowl around the ranks of freezers I became conscious of a problem that was becoming more urgent by the minute. Now as you may know, I am a gentleman of a certain age and this occasionally brings with it a certain problem. I take care to alleviate this before leaving Chez Kojak but it does reappear from time to time. Glancing around I was reminded of another fact of life. When you are in a commercial establishment and merely looking round you are continually bothered by assistants asking if you "need any help sir?"  When you actually want some attention there is seldom anyone within sight. And so it was. I persevered for several minutes more but my attention to fridge freezers began to waver. Spotting a gentleman asistant nearer to my age than most I asked him where the conveniences were located. To my consternation he replied that there wasn't one for the public and helpfully added to my problem by saying that the nearest one was in a supermarket about a quarter of a mile away. Now the retail park was not a small one, nor were the various shops in it tiny. I'd have thought that shops of that size would provide more facilities for the public and for gentlemen of a certain age in particular. Fifteen minutes later and clutching a bag of flour as a guilt purchase I emerged from Messrs Morrisons a much relieved Kojak. As I drove home I wondered if I was the only person to have been inconvenienced by a Comet. Did this happen to Mr Halle?