Ring My Bell

Decided, finally, to buy a new doorbell today.  A simple task, one might suppose, but you don't know my history of doorbells.  I've lost count of how many I've bought in the last couple of years. 

I knew I shouldn't have let the shop assistant persuade me to buy a good old-fashioned electric one to replace the good old-fashioned, ancient, useless contraption which no-one ever hears.  I wanted a "Funk" bell (don't know what they're called in English, 'cos I never had to buy one in England).  No wires, a couple of batteries and a selection of sounds.

I gave up on the recommended model after one of the wires poking out of the wall just snapped off, leaving nothing, not even the teeniest thread of wire, to poke and prod into the impossibly small space in the new fixture.  Back to the store.  Friendly, helpful service.  Superduper "Funk" system catering for two apartments.  Ideal.  One for me, downstairs and one for the "boys", upstairs.  With any luck, we might hear at least one of them when folks call.

Two hours later, still doorbell - less.  All I wanted was a simple: "ding-dong". A lonesome "ding", or  "dong" would have been fine, too, but that was too much to ask.  Kai and I suffered through the whole range, from Big Ben to Yankee Doodle, to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, to a dog barking for goodness' sake!  Most unconvincing. Smokey the cat didn't stir a whisker.

After setting the whole selection off several times by mistake, we managed to nail down our choice.  As close to a "ding-dong" as we could get.

I shall spare you the details of our attempts to affix the push button bit to the area around the front door, although I did enjoy a brief jig to Yankee Doodle Dandy in an attempt to ease the mounting tension.

The offending thing is now residing on the hall window sill until further notice.