Sometimes the world goes wrong all at once and the things we surround ourselves with suddenly become ridiculous and dead, like rivers of rotting fish.
Then they are just reminders of our reliance on pointless stuff to make us comfortable and happy.
I spent last weekend trying to stop my swimming pool looking like the tailings lake from an Adani coal mine when the pump packed up after several days of big heat.
The race was on to fix things before chlorine levels dropped enough to turn frogs into giant slimy breeding machines from the black lagoon.
After a day of switching the pump on and off in the hope that it would see sense and start working again out of sheer compassion, I was forced to think of something else.
Because I am a pool technician toughened by 12 head-scratching years of pipe kicking and hammer smashing, I went to work with my hammer.
I eventually traced the problem to a cracked PVC connector in the hydraulic multiport filter synchroniser.
I immediately depressurised the gravity-fed aqua synchrocyclotron and got to work even more.
Do try and keep up please.
The intersecting storage rings were then removed along with the electro-positron O-ring seal which was separated from the expandable silicone sandwich.
Next, the hydrogen decelerator was delicately removed with a pair of tweezers from the bathroom cabinet.
Then Prince Finksi stuck his wet nose on the antiproton ring which shorted out the Higgs-boson bubble accelerator and the whole shemozzle fell apart because he just doesn’t care about cutting-edge aqua technology.
Anyway, I eventually smacked the thing with my hammer, taped it up and it worked.
When in doubt, clout.
That’s what my old dad always said — and believe me, he was a man full of doubt.
The next thing to go wrong was the airconditioner.
Now, airconditioners are a bit more technical than pool pumps.
They require at least a degree in aero-refrigeration technology.
So I called a man who had a masters in this subject and he arrived and scratched his head a lot.
I told him to duck next time he walked through the door — then he got to work.
Unfortunately the problem needed someone with a doctorate in refrigeration.
A whole team of cold air doctors arrived, pulled out the old unit, chucked it away and installed a new one.
After dusting themselves down they drove off laughing and left me and Prince Finski sitting on the doorstep looking down the driveway.
I turned to look at him and I realised he has none of the responsibility of ownership that I have.
He’s a canine Trappist monk — all he owns in this world is his bowl.
Is he happier than me?
I fill the void in my life with possessions.
As far as I know, he has no void to fill.
Food, sleep, walks and pats — that’s it for him.
This year I’m throwing stuff away.
It will probably go to the big void out at Cosgrove.
Hopefully this will make room for more sleep and pats for me and Finski.
John Lewis is The News’ chief of staff