It was a bit too yellow for a flash of lightning, and besides it came from within. There was a bang but it was not thunderous. I was a bit charged up with one thing and another at the time and though I didn't sit Usain bolt upright I did get out of the armchair pdq in case I spontaneously combusted.
Despite no longer being an armchair detective I worked out with Poirotesque stealth that it must have been one of the two kitchen fluorescent lights(Picture 1) that we had ordered on line after weeks of web soul destroying social search engineering. Which one though? The one nearest to the noisy fridge freezer which was reassuringly continuing to buzz? No it was the once already replaced one that had been delivered like Basil and proved to be as was the ex-parrot in his previous life.
Though a shadow of my former self I resolved to investigate and establish probable cause. To increase the lumens of the darkened room I set up a bog standard lamp. As it had a low voltage bulb I went off to watch the last episode of series 1 of 'The Wire' that I had series recorded to give the bulb a chance to shine.
Simples. I'd cracked it. One of the 36w 4 pin Utubes was looking blackened. I'd blown it. A trip to the electrical wholesaler was all that would be required. "Warm or Cold?" was the question, as if it were a plumber's. "We've only got cold but I can order you warm." Like the bog standard lamp's low voltage bulb "It'll take a couple of days." I couldn't make up my mind. I dithered but I was determined not to say that I was blowing hot or cold over it. "I'll go for cold." If the fridge freezer expresses any concern I'll come back and order warm.' I thought.
"Are there any other lights?" "There's another one of these". "Do you want another cold one to match it?" I was warming to it now. "No thanks. If there's one of each I can see which one the missus prefers." He made the very kind offer of doing a swap for no extra charge and so dissuading me from suggesting to put it in cold-store if it got the cold shoulder from the missus.
In went the replacement Utube. I turned on the switch. Let there be light, except there wasn't any, only from the other one, so it couldn't be the fuse or the trip switch down below in the cellar. It had to be the electronic ballast.(Picture 2). Being a member of 'Which' I sent off a bog standard e-mail complaining about it being 'unfit for purpose'. I got an acknowledgement saying that a member of their lighting team would get back to me. That didn't happen. I tried to shame them on Twitter but like the light itself-still no contact.
Despite the problems I was having with the ballast I tried to keep on an even keel. Rather than proceeding through the social media I decided to go face to face with a human. Back to the electrical wholesaler. I showed him the pictures that I had taken of the light and its parts. I was told that they could only order the part if it became part of a £750 order they would need to send off and that might take a time to accumulate. I made a mental note to check my third party fire and theft insurance. I was beginning to understand why the Big Six were doing High Fives over Energy prices. I was certainly and rapidly losing my cool.
Seeing the life blood draining from me the young bloke behind the counter in the electrical wholesaler shop wrote me out a note on a slip of paper. "Go to this address" he said. "They are specialists and you can get what you need off the shelf". "Tell them that John sent you. They'll look after you". It may have been a slip of a thing but to me it was like one of those shiny silver space blankets that they give out to runners at the end of marathons to help them recover as they warm down.
He may only have been a slip of a thing but to me he was like one of those volunteers who hand out those silver space blankets to runners at the end of marathons to help them recover as they warm down. I hope young John's a paid apprentice and not one of those interned volunteers doing work experience to be left on the shelf eventually. The plumber's mait turned out to be another gem. I showed him John's note. He went out back and got me an electronic ballast that was not the same as the one in the picture as that wasn't in existence any more but was the equivalent.
He explained that the wiring would be different. He showed me the differences. I wrote them on the magnified photo. (Picture 3)According to what I wrote down in descending ascending order 123456 becomes 351264. John's mate obviously had the same ability to gauge facial blood drain as John.
With an approach that most Customer Services would kill for he said "If you are worried about wiring it when you get home take down the whole light fitting, bring it here and we'll wire it up for you". So different to the 'If you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen effing brigade I had encountered by their absence on the internet.
He gave me an invoice and I paid the £15 in cash. It is in dispute whether it was me or my good lady wife who picked up the paperwork. What was not in dispute was that we had not actually picked up the electronic ballast. A phone call received through muffled sounds of amusement confirmed that it had been left on the counter. No need for a 'Which' complaining e-mail here as the customer is not always right and is sometimes as in this case an arse.
Having established that I would not have been chosen by Bletchley Park as a code breaker and without the replacement part itself, I turned off the circuit breaker in the cellar and removed the fitting as advised. I released the three input wires and the screws attaching it to the ceiling without the air becoming any bluer in the kitchen. I didn't even react when the lady who is able to stir those parts which others fail to reach suggested sticking picture 2 to the ceiling to avoid any confusion when it came to replacing it.
I drove back to where John's mate worked ensuring this time that I had the fitting itself and not the picture of it. He listened sympathetically to my tale that such lapses of memory were becoming commonplace with me. "It'll take about ten minutes." He came back after a quarter of an hour with a bubble wrapped package. "It's all wired up. It's been tested and I've replaced some of the plastic sleeves that had become brittle and extended some of the wiring to accommodate the different part."
"How much do I owe you? "Nothing. It's okay." I fumbled for a five pound note. "Have a beer on me. You've saved me a lot of hassle." Absolutely not, thank you. It's our pleasure." I peeled off picture 1 that the missus had stuck up with Blu tack and with her support replaced and rewired the light.
So there is a sort of happy ending despite there now being a cold end and a warm end to our kitchen. When the kitchen light switch is thrown the 'old' light comes on right on the 'B' of the Bang which sounded the death knell for the 'new' one a full second sooner. I'll live with it. It may well be that the latter now has a nervous starter after its recent experiences.
Former PM John Major's silver tongue has been in action recently in the same vein as Harold Macmillan's comments about selling off the family silver and Edward Heath's Silver Cloud plating of the Iron Lady. Though perhaps more silver guilt than shades of grey, my take on what he had to say is the importance of not preventing the many John Minors of this country from aspiring to boldly go beyond the giving out of silver space blankets by removing the silver spoons from the mouths of the chosen few.
