Tric Kearney: It's my life

Our printer died. This might be ‘fake news’ to some of you but it has sent shock waves through our house, resulting in wailing, shouting, arguments and blame.

It would appear it’s all my fault.

Personally, I believe it passed away due to overwork and under appreciation. Perhaps I am next?

For years we didn’t ask too much of it, a gentle request now and again to copy a few pages or print notes but in recent months the almost-qualified teacher of the house has been very demanding.

It would appear pupils in fourth class require the equivalent of a tree per person in printing. We learned to get used to its noise in the background of everyday life, churning out page after page of colourful visuals.

All was sailing along nicely until the ink ran out... again. We bought a new batch, for a considerable sum, and the fair-minded, almost-qualified teacher forked out to pay for it.

No sooner was the ink loaded into the printer than it made some rather serious roars and wails before sighing deeply and shutting down.

We gathered around in shock, pressing the only button visible. ‘On’, ‘off’, ‘on’, ‘off’. There wasn’t a kick out of it.

“Maybe it blew a fuse?” I wondered.

I am not sure what exactly this means, but I’d often heard it asked growing up.

Not knowing how to investigate my fuse theory, we continued pressing the on-off switch.

“Perhaps it got too hot?” I suggested, feeling the back of the printer which was cool to the touch.

“I know!” I said, resorting to the unplug-and-wait technique which has worked in the past. Who knew a minute could last so long? Plugging it in again we held our breath... nothing.

She who prints too much left the room abruptly, this may or may not mean ‘left the room in a temper’.

A few minutes later, car keys and purse in hand, she returned ready to move on. I waved her off suggesting she find the same printer as the one which had croaked as it contained a mortgage in new ink inside.

In the silence that followed I reached for a cup of tea to steady my nerves. Before I’d finished the phone rang. There were no similar printers to be found. I wisely said very little but the following day headed off to the shops myself.

I’m usually pretty good at this. I knew we needed something not too heavy on ink, which prints quickly and on both sides of the page.

To my delight, I found one and, joy of joys, it was much cheaper than I’d budgeted for. I couldn’t wait to deliver my gift. How grateful would she be?

Wrong. The cheap-as-chips printer was slower beyond measure and when they said ‘double sided’ they meant you must turn the page yourself each time. It was enough to send the almost teacher over the edge and me with her.

Thankfully, friends and her father came to the rescue and fourth class got the education they needed. After a few days, the almost teacher got used to sitting by the printer, manually turning page after page. Life began to settle down until...

For no apparent reason the other day Himself stumbled, landing his size 10 shoe from a height upon the new printer, which for reasons unknown was on the floor. There was a sickening crack... printer number two, broken.

So today, yer man with the big feet departed to purchase printer number three. I tried to advise, but he insisted he is very familiar with printers.

Moments ago I heard him return, to the sound of a very excited dog jumping around him, closely followed by a loud crash as bigfoot fell to the floor, new printer and all.