It was a nightmare if not quite of Elm Street proportions.
On Monday, January 26, I returned from visiting my husband in hospital in Brighton to find the house in total darkness.
The emergency number for power cuts wasn’t easy to find.
I would be well advised to keep it in a prominent place as this was the third such incident in as many months.
The last time, I was preparing for an early morning flight and had to pack by the light of a flickering oil lamp.
Eventually, I got through and was told they were looking for the fault and power was expected to be restored by 10pm.
I think he concluded with the phrase “No problem”– well there was for me.
I was tired, cold and hungry and dropped the flash light which fell apart.
When at 9.30 the lights came on, I gratefully blew out the candles – which was a big mistake. Within two to three minutes I was once again engulfed in darkness.
Frustratingly, this happened about eight times before power was restored at 12.30, leaving the bedside radio alarm clock blinking in confusion.
I seemed to be the only victim, in this lane anyway. The lights were on in my shop next door but I didn’t propose settling into the stockroom to read.
There were no extremes of weather in Sussex that day – no storms, no snow. I hadn’t blown a fuse, we aren’t at war. I can’t recall episodes like this in the past.
It is hard not to conclude that “things ain’t what they used to be”.