I take a short break from the housework to report the following.
Earlier, in another part of the woods.
Firstspawn: “I can’t hoover my room because it won’t suck up the bits.”
Harassed mother (distractedly): “Maybe it’s full. Have you tried emptying it?”
Fs: “Yes, but it still doesn’t suck properly.”
Hm (concentrating mostly on cooking / cleaning / knitting / washing / helping with homework / blogging / feeding creatures) casts half an eye over hoover, sees it is indeed empty: “But does it still turn on? make a noise?”
Fs: “Oh yes. It makes a noise.”
Hm: “What do you mean, it won’t suck up the bits?”
Fs: “Well all those staples that got spread across the floor. It won’t get them off the carpet.”
Hm: “Ok, I’ll look at it later.”
Fs: “So can I play my wii / DS / go on the computer now?”
Hm (sighing): “I suppose so.”
It is now later. The children are away for the weekend.
I have examined the hoover. The problem was not hard to discern. Lodged at the end of the hose was a sock. An entire black school sock. I removed it and reassembled the machine.
It still didn’t suck. Disassembled it again. And there was another one. An entire navy blue and red striped sock.
So. Rather than expend the energy on actually bending down and picking them up this slack-jawed knuckle-grazing lazy drooling lump had actually hoovered up his socks. Sucked them up. Into the machine. Hoovered up his socks.
*thump* *thump* *thump*
(Sound of head making contact with wall. Repeatedly.)