Imagine you live in a posh house with movement-sensor-operated lights in the bathroom. You've been tootling along nicely for three or four years, swishing in and out for teeth cleaning purposes, etc. without ever needing to flick even the merest of switches.
Then, one evening, you pop into the bathroom just before bedtime and... well, nothing. No light whatsoever. You crash about in a very undignified manner until you're eventually able to locate the door knob and make good your escape, bloodied but unbowed.
As you sit there on the edge of the bed with an ice pack glued to your head and your wife's gleeful laughter ringing in your ears, what's on your mind apart from "If she thinks we're still going shopping on Saturday, she can think again"?
I'm pretty sure it'd be something like "I must get a new bulb for the bathroom light tomorrow."
So, the next day you replace the bulb and then.... nothing. Your wife's schadenfreude is, by now, morphing into mild irritation and you're thinking "It must be the sensor. I'll get one tomorrow." So, you replace the sensor and then... nothing. Well, not nothing exactly, since you manage to short out the circuit and nearly fall off the ladder. You're wife is ominously silent by now and you think it may be prudent to do the shopping thing after all.
As you lie in bed that night, mulling over your next move in what has undisputedly become something of a soap opera, it hits you like, well, like a shorted out circuit, actually. The fuse! If it's not the bulb and it's not the sensor, it must be the fuse! And, sure enough, leafing through your age-addled memory banks, you do recall meddling in the fuse box on the night in question. You must have lowered the wrong switch, you fool. You race to rectify everything in the fuse box and put the old bulb and the original sensor back in. And then.... light! Wahaaay! Success. All you need to do now is tuck the sensor and its cables back into the ceiling panels and then... Crack! It shorts out again and you nearly fall from your ladder again and you really think your fuming wife might just give you a little nudge this time to make sure.
You call an electrician. He comes and fixes everything in a jiffy. You're life is a total failure and you're very definitely going to be traipsing around Zara at the weekend.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is a reasonable synopsis of this week's bathroom light antics at The Shakespeare although I do admit to adding the wife character just to make my life seem more interesting.
I know, it hasn't worked.