Fridge Door Alarm. Mini Refrigerator Repair.
Fridge Door Alarm
- A refrigerator
- electric refrigerator: a refrigerator in which the coolant is pumped around by an electric motor
- A refrigerator is a cooling apparatus. The common household appliance (often called a "fridge" for short) comprises a thermally insulated compartment and a heat pump—chemical or mechanical means—to transfer heat from it to the external environment (i.e.
- Fridge is a 2006 television and print advertising campaign launched by Diageo to promote canned Guinness-brand stout in the United Kingdom. The campaign was handled by advertising agency Abbott Mead Vickers BBDO. The television piece was directed by J J Keith, and shot in the Czech Republic.
- Be fitted or protected with an alarm
- dismay: fill with apprehension or alarm; cause to be unpleasantly surprised; "I was horrified at the thought of being late for my interview"; "The news of the executions horrified us"
- fear resulting from the awareness of danger
- a device that signals the occurrence of some undesirable event
- Cause (someone) to feel frightened, disturbed, or in danger
- A doorway
- a swinging or sliding barrier that will close the entrance to a room or building or vehicle; "he knocked on the door"; "he slammed the door as he left"
- Used to refer to the distance from one building in a row to another
- doorway: the entrance (the space in a wall) through which you enter or leave a room or building; the space that a door can close; "he stuck his head in the doorway"
- A hinged, sliding, or revolving barrier at the entrance to a building, room, or vehicle, or in the framework of a cupboard
- anything providing a means of access (or escape); "we closed the door to Haitian immigrants"; "education is the door to success"
Approaching Folkestone Harbour Station
And so, on Saturday the alarm went off once again in what appeared to be the middle of the night, and we climbed out of bed ready for an exciting day. We must have been early as the cats were still asleep, even Sulu had not started his caterwauling. Due to engineering, there were no trains from Dover, so we drove to Faversham on the north Kent coast to catch a London bound train there. A railway station at just before six in the morning is not the warmest place in the world; especially when the cafe and waiting rooms are all locked. We made do with pacig up and down and stomping our feet. The seven minutes past six train arrived on time, and soon we were slipping through the Medway towns and up into the south eastern suburbs of London. Victoria is a big old station, with modern shops and the suchlike fitted in wherever there is room. But, we had an hour to spare before our depature, and so we set off to find a place to sit down and have breakfast. Imagine our surprisew that for most places, half seven is far too early for brerakfast and the lights were still off and chairs still on tables. We made do with a coffee and a panini and a flick through the new slimline Saturday Times; a thinner paper for thin times, apparently. The destination board had a departure for Folkestone Harbour, and the crowds seemed to be hanging around platform 2, and so we joined them. The Golden Arrow was the flagship service that ran down to the Channel ports to join ferries and carry the great and good on their merry way. The last train ferry sailed in 1994 when the Channel Tunnel opened, and the branch line down to Folkestone harbour has slowly been rotting ever since. The branch is one of the most spectacular on the British netowrk, and at 1 in 30 is one of the steepest line still in use. It winds its way though the town until it emerges at the harbour and reaches the station on the pier via a multi-arched brick jetty. Without doubt is the most beautiful line as it leaps over the fishing boats at anchor. It is no surprise then that the threat of closure is hanging over it and each special train that heads down is billed as potentially the last. Just a little later than billed, the train edged into Victoria, and the hundreds of passengers rushed on to find our reserved seats. The windows were misted, but that was because it was a cold morning. Or so we thought. It turned out that the heating had failed in tow of the carriages, our being one of them. It was a frost morning, and as the staff tried to turn the heating controls off and on, with no effect, we sat there and shivered. We hoped that as the journey continued, the heating would warm through. This did not happen, and no matter how many cups of coffee we had, we sat there cold. The rest of the train was full, and so there was no chance of us finding a warmer seat, and so as we wandered through southern London we took turns in wiping the windows, so that we might be able to see smething of our route. Once we arrived at Folkestone, the train sat at the sidings waiting for the green light so we could descend to the harbour. I had tried to drum up interest through various groups on Flickr, so I had hoped there would be a few people to see the train arrive. As we inched our way down the branch, it became clear that we were going to be the main attraction of the day, with people climbing on roofs and taking up all possible view points as the steam engine took us down the branch. As we came out from between the final two houses and the harbour came into view, thousands of people were seen, and hundreds of shutters fired to record the event. Time has not served the station well, 15 years without regular service has left the staion roofless, one track removed, and moss, grass and litter everywhere. Quite what the Orient Express passengers think of the surroundings in unclear, but it's not pretty for sure. Most of us got off to take up positions to take pictures as the pacific was going to go up the branch in full steam for our cameras. When the time came, the engine burst into life and turned the grey air black with lots of smoke and steam as it pulled the dozen or so carriages upto the main line. I took my fiar share for sure. Sadly, local businesses failed to take the chance to open, and most stayed shut as maybe four thousand people milled around whilst waiting for us to depart. The one chip shop that was open had queues out of the door for over two hours. Once back on the train and heading back to london via the north Kent coast, the carriages were no warmer, and so we decided that we would get off at the next water stop at Canterbury and get something to eat and get warm, regardless of whether we made it back to the train in time. Our favourite Belgian resturant has a branch right near the station, and we took a table nearest the warmest radiator and tucked in to herby garlic soup followed by something just as tasty. Filled with good Belgian food and trappist
cookie crew, smart doggies
From reddit user StupidDogCoffee: The Cookie Crew "Alright, guys, this is the plan." The dim light filtering into the old shed illuminated the map as Roxi, a brown and white terrier, unrolled it with her paw. Ringo, the nimble australian shepherd, cocked his head to the side as he studied the crude diagram. He pointed with his nose as he spoke, "So I assume that this is the front door," he pointed to another area on the map, "and this looks like the back porch." "No no no!" Roxi spun around in frustration. "That's the bedroom," she said, "and that is the kitchen." Buzz, an overweight chocolate lab, was chewing on his butt while Roxi spoke, which agitated her to no end. "Dognabbit, you big galoot," she said, "pay attention. This is important." She darted forward and gave him a light nip on his flank. Buzz shrunk back with a cowed look, but she had his attention now. "I'm sorry, Roxi." he said. His eyes searched the shed, but he could find no clues. "Umm, what were we doing again?" Roxi sat down and sighed, while Ringo tried and failed to hold in a chuckle. She looked Buzz in the eyes and spoke in a slow and clear voice. "The cookies, Buzz. For the fifth time, we're going to take the cookie jar." It wasn't really the fifth time. In fact, this was the first time she had mentioned the plan to Buzz, but she liked to exaggerate things. Buzz's ears perked up and his eyes shone. "Treats? We're going to get treats?" His tail was wagging so hard that he could barely keep his back feet on the ground. "I like treats." "Yes, stupid. Now try and pay attention. We need your help for the plan to work." A glob of drool rolled out of the side of Buzz's mouth as he sat up straight and tried to look as dignified as possible. "Ok. I'll be good, I promise." "Good boy." Roxi gave buzz a wary look out of the corner of her eye before going back to the map. They spent twenty minutes going over the plan in detail before Roxi ordered Buzz to eat the map and they set their plan in action. ...... They didn't have much time to carry out the plan. It was essential for them to act while Daddy was at work and Mommy was home alone. While Buzz prepared by munching on grass and Roxi practiced her jumps, Ringo went up to the back door and scratched at it, just as planned. When Mommy came up to the door he gave her his very best 'poor me' expression and let out a soft whine. Mommy sighed and opened the door. "Fine," she said, "You can come in. After he had trotted into the house she stuck her head into the back yard and called out for the other dogs. They appeared to be playing and didn't seem to want in. She shut the door and went back to her desk. Ringo licked her hand and she gave him a scratch on the head before he wandered off to the dining room, right off of the kitchen. He waved his tail in front of the window to signal Roxi before taking his position under the dining table. When she saw Ringo's signal, Roxi directed Buzz to lay on the porch beside the door then went into a barking frenzy. Mommy looked out the door and saw Roxi jumping up at the big oak tree in the corner of the yard, barking like it was full of murderous pirates. She opened the door and called out, "Cut it out, Roxi." but the little dog was paying her no mind. It wasn't like Roxi to bark like that for nothing, so she went out into the yard to investigate. While she approached and looked up into the tree, expecting to see a cat or something up there, Buzz slipped into the house, his stomach already rumbling from all the grass he had eaten, and took his position on the sofa while ringo started to nose a dining room chair into the kitchen. When he had the chair in position he looked up at the cookie jar on top of the fridge and gave a low bark, not quite loud enough for Mommy to hear from outside, but enough for Roxi's sensitive ears to pick up On hearing Ringo's signoal, Roxi stopped barking and sat down, looking up at Mommy with an expression that seemed to say "Aren't you proud of me for chasing off that nasty deathmonster?" Mommy just rolled her eyes and shook her head before turning back towards the house. "Come on, Roxi," she said, "let's go inside." Ringo and Buzz watched carefully as they came inside, but Roxi was good. She jumped around playfully as Mommy shut the door to keep her attention away from the out-of-place chair by the kitchen counter. Mommy gave Buzz a pat on the side as she passed and went back to her computer desk. Once Roxi was satisfied that Mommy's mind was back on her work, she went to join Ringo in the kitchen and they exchanged knowing nods then waited patiently for Buzz's signal. They didn't have long to wait. Buzz sat up on the sofa as his upset stomach set off the alarm bells in his body. He started to cough,