Confessions of a serial murderer

... of vacuum cleaners. After my painful decapitation of Henry last year in a vain attempt to fix his on/off switch, I replaced him with a cheap and cheerful upright hoover.

Last night I did it again. I can't pretend I didn't see the strap of Star's school bag dangling over the floor. I just thought I could nudge round it rather than making the effort to move it. I caught the edge.

Slurp!

Gulp!

Distressed, shrieking hoover death-wail.

Acrid burning smell and smoke.

So that would be that then. Another vacuum cleaner bites the dust. It was a very cheap one, so whatever I have blown out (the motor, I presume) would certainly cost more to fix than the hoover was worth.

But every cloud - or hoover explosion - has a silver lining. I missed him. His replacement was bland and unfriendly. It never smiled at me. It was dull and characterless.

Henry II is on his way ...