How to Use Fiction and not Science to Fix the Freezer (or Not)

Something happened. I’m not sure how. But it could have been carelessness. Or it could have been the power cut. Many things, but mostly pregnancies, have been blamed on these two culprits. This was a case of ice trying to rule the world.

I noticed it first last night. The freezer door would not shut. Upon further examination it transpired that instead of the usual freezer contents: pizzas that are so thin on cheese that no one will eat them, blackcurrants from the bumper crop six years ago, the year before lasts’ chocolate mousse left over from a party, ice packs for purple feet, ice cream that is all sort of frosty on top, you know, the general collection of totally inedible stuff, there was ice. And only ice. Big white and slightly scary ice. Ice so large that it was creeping out and trying to reach the tumble dryer for some sort of ice/heat party.

This, I thought, was a problem. For two good reasons. One, how was I going to cook those blackcurrants that I had been meaning to turn into a delicious blackcurrant cake for the last six years? Two, how was I going to close the door? And three (ok three good reasons) since the door was open then the freezer motor was going completely mad thinking that it was its sole and crucial responsibility to bring the rest of the house down to freezer temperature.

Reason three won. Mostly because the beloved has a bit of a thing about how much electricity freezers use. Luckily the beloved is flying to Canada (to speak at conference about sustainability) using aviation fuel instead of electricity. But he’s coming back. On Thursday. And will not be happy to find the whole house turned into a freezer using about a million times more electricity than a normal freezer fiasco.

So, a plan was needed. The obvious sprung to mind. Turn off the freezer. Not so simple as it seemed. The freezer is attached to the fridge. To be precise the fridge is on top of the freezer and attached. Turn one off and the other one goes off. (It’s a metaphor for marriage; every house should have one.) The fridge is full of food we actually want to eat. That needs to be cold.

A rethink needed. I racked my brains for a solution. Being a bit of a traditionalist I looked on the bookshelves for a solution. You know, a book called ‘Freezer Monsters and How to Win’ or ‘Is Your House Being Taken Over By the Freezer?’ or ‘Come to Terms With Your Ice In Twelve Easy Steps’. Nothing. How odd. But my eye finally alighted on a helpful guide book. It advocated the use of a towel in any given emergency. Or even better, it transpired, as I read on, 42 towels. I have only 12 towels so decided to settle for just one for the moment. I left the other ones together to breed in the hope that in the morning I would discover 42 or more.

I held my towel. I approached the freezer. Quickly I cunningly shoved the towel between the fridge and freezer doors. It draped in a satisfying manner over the ajarness of the freezer door. The writer of that guide knew a thing or two, I thought. This was definitely going to stop my house from reaching sub-zero temperatures and using all the electricity available to the western half of Cardiff.

Everything was fine. The problem was solved. Until the physicist tried to open the fridge door. The towel fell off.

‘What’s this towel doing here Mum?’
I explained all of the above re my advice from the book.

‘Why don’t you just get a knife and cut away the ice?’
I explained all of the above again.

She took a knife. Attacked the ice monster with the ferocity only a victim of A level mania can muster.

Why is it that children never believe a word one says?

‘It’s not working.’

I explained all of the above again.

‘I know, I’ll heat the knife.’

Physicists, honestly. She boiled a kettle. She poured boiling water into a jug. She heated the knife.

‘It’s not working.’

I explained all of the above again. She spilled the jug of water. Grabbed my towel and used it to mop up.

She turned to me in despair.

‘Have you got another towel?’ I redeemed a towel from the pile of fornicating towels and handed it to her. She shoved the towel between the fridge and freezer doors. It draped in a satisfying manner over the ajarness of the freezer door.

‘There,’ she said, quite pleased at this solution.

‘Well done dear.’

A triumph of fiction over science I think.