Mr Careless

We are now doing our biggest ever deep-down house clean. We are just two days away from heading off to Perth for a 19-day house swap. Strangers will be living in our house, so of course the back of the TV needs to be dust free and the stray fluff removed from the 3rd drawer down in the back bedroom linen cupboard. Etcetera. Crumb tray of the toaster? Check. Springs on the trampoline? Polished.

Yesterday I was a bit over-zealous about cleaning down the sides of the snugly fitted-in gas stove. I rocked it forward, and saw a flexible hose, which I guessed was the gas line. I slid it towards me a little and ... smelt gas. I had broken or dislodged something. The flexible hose was the exhaust outlet, while the gas comes in via a rigid copper pipe. GAH! I must have been studying cloud formations when the ironclad rule NEVER MOVE A GAS STOVE was announced. I have been living with this one for 6 years, but only now had I felt the cleaning urge to the point that I was moved to move it.

So today we had a visit from a very nice gasfitter named Ben. He was polite, thorough and tidied up after. I heartily recommend him. People who know Tasmanian footy might know him as a stalwart defender for years for the Glenorchy Magpies. A safe pair of hands with the gas appliances or bringing the ball out of the back half.

His name? Careless, Ben Careless.