DON'T you just hate the words: "We need another washing machine"?

To be honest, I have a very good relationship with our current aging washer, in the sense that I do not bother it and it does not bother me.

Given that the limit of my technical power does not stretch beyond opening the door and emptying its contents into a basket, it is hardly surprising.

Men are not built to deal with washing machines.

Give us a stereo, a video, a telly or a computer and we will gladly tinker about with them until they are entirely useless rather than simply malfunctioning.

But the washing machine is my wife's domain and my only involvement in its domestic life within our house had been signing the credit card slip on its purchase.

The trouble is, the washing machine appears to have taken on a life of its own and has now started to travel, which may seem like a strange thing to do for an electrical item with a block of concrete inside it.

The other day, the silence of our humble abode was shattered by an alien sound.

With hindsight and the luxury of a few minutes to ponder, I would have guessed that someone was driving an Austin Allegro at 60 miles per hour in first gear in my kitchen.

In such circumstances, it is not a great idea - or healthy - to simply turn the volume up on the stereo to drown out the din, so my wife and I arrived at the scene at precisely the same time from different directions.

It was a startling sight.

The machine - already half-way through a spin cycle - was advancing across the small utility area (you know, the bit between the kitchen and the downstairs bedroom, next to the downstairs loo).

I was instantly reminded of a childhood spent watching Daleks coming towards me and while I was tempted to run behind the sofa or simply cover my face with a cushion, there's little dignity in a middle-aged man regressing to his early years and then getting punched in the ear for his trouble.

When it suddenly headed sideways and started exterminating the plaster in the dividing wall, my wife hit the stop button and I reached for the instruction booklet perched on a shelf just two feet away.

"Auf keinen Fall darf die Maschine mit der daruberliegenden Tischplatte oder benachbatern Mobeln verschraubt werden!"

This was not the helpful advice I wanted to hear.

Unless of course it was advising me to leave the house and retire to the nearest pub while my wife headed for the nearest electrical superstore.