A short pause for reflection, never a bad thing, in the middle of a changing the light bulb routine we are rehearsing.
It started straightforwardly enough. The bulb in the fitting over the bathroom mirror passed away quietly this week. We looked at the thing for a bit and filed it under 'Next Saturday.' Over the last three or four weeks a lot of things have been filed thus and as it is now the next Saturday in question we got back to the problem.
Which, simply posed is this. How does the bugger come apart? We pulled a bit, prodded and poked, then got back to the light bulb. Single ha. Not worth two.
We therefore have two long-sighted people trying to look at the detail of a light fitting, using a mirror because it is against the wall so we can't get our eyes behind it, one of whom, for reasons best not gone into here, is naked.
During the next hour I googled Lampade, which sounds like a charity for the frustrated bulb changers of the planet, the name on the light, only to discover that it is:
a) Italian (therefore probably pronounced Lampardeh)
b) In Italian
c) Obsolete Italian
Meanwhile a combination of the mirror, my reading glasses and a cricked neck, showed us a small recess in the back of the fitting which might have a screw in it. Or maybe take an allen key. We inserted several things in the hole and eventually one of them bit.
We got it apart. We worked out how to take the bulb out - a halogen, energy consuming monster if ever we saw one. One of us remembering to dress first we purchased a replacement at Brown's hardware in Nailsea. Yet to find something they haven't got. We fitted it and it works.
How many light bulbs does it take to change a person? Only one if it is this frustrating.