Yesterday morning my kettle would not switch on. After a few moments I realised the unit had tripped, so I pushed up the thingy on the consumer unit, and made my cup of tea.

A couple of hours later, after having taken some lunch to a friend, my trolley (the mobility buggy I use to get around) was losing power. I could not understand it. Then I realised that when my kitchen electricity had tripped the power to my trolley on charge had stopped. My trolley is plugged into my shed which adjoins my cottage and is on the same circuit as my kitchen. My trolley stays under my porch, but moisture affects the converter which sits on my kitchen window sill outside.

I was hoping I could make it home but I was at a snail’s pace and then I noticed a young couple beside me and I asked if I could be pushed. They asked where I was going, and I gestured forward and said that even a few yards would be a great help. They started pushing and I asked where they were going. The Quay, they said. I live by the Quay so they took me always the way to my gates and to my back door. As we went along, only a few hundred yards, we chatted and I explained that it hadn’t dawned on me that finding my kitchen tripped would mean my trolley would not have got a full charge.

When we were at my place I got a plastic bag and tape and the two of them made my converter as watertight as possible. Then we sat in my garden and chatted. It started to rain. Big, fat, juicy drops of rain. At first I did not move as I was so pleased. Then I realised that not everyone sits in the rain, so we moved indoors and chatted some more. It turned out they were on their way to have lunch, now a very late one, so they left, promising to call when they were next on the Quay or High Street.

Today, my trolley has no power. I don’t know why. I’ve tried to phone the places they work, but as yet no response. But all is well, as this enforced stay at home has given me rest and time to get things done. I know I will hear from them.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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