Why I don’t love Henry

Henry, oo, Henry, he’s so brilliant, I love Henry! That’s what people say.

But I don’t love Henry. In fact, sometimes Henry gets on my bloody nerves.

And yes, I am talking about the hoover. Henry Hoover. He drives me up the wall.

I don’t understand why people rave about him. Just cause he wheels along behind you, doesn’t mean this is a positive attribute. I mean, honestly, show Henry a slight bump in the ground or a corner and Henry is stumped! He will refuse to move. Re! Fuse! He’s not going anywhere. The only thing he will do is fall on his side and roll about a bit while you growl at him under your breath.

And god forbid you need to change the bag! There’s a poof of heavy dust as you take it off, which is annoying but manageable. Then you put the new one on. All fairly standard.

But can you clip Henry back together?! Of course not. He just doesn’t click! He makes a great show of being one piece again and so you confidently wheel him out to do some hoovering and there’s a small stone in front of his wheel so of course he can’t cope. He stays in the same spot and you, confused, pull a bit harder to get him to follow you and he just falls onto his side and his top, which you had thought was firmly reunited with his bottom, falls off and you have a new dust cloud poofing out and Henry’s two halves are just bobbing about on the floor and you want to kick him.

Yes, you can drag him about behind you while you hoover but is the desire to become violent really worth the minor highlight of having him follow you. I mean, is it really so awful to have to hold an entire hoover the whole time?

And that, my friends, is why I don’t love Henry.

(Who would’ve guessed that hoovers would be the direction I would take after all that Poverty In Sicily chat? You see? You just never know what’s coming.)