Southbank Bush Chook claims the last 2 posts and this one.

Eventually I may get the hang of this.
Lach has just arrived home. To be greeted by a noisily whirring, more like a bbbbrrrring shaking fridge. I heard it about 2 hours ago, banged the doors, shifted it around a bit- all to no avail. My wild intuition positively tells me it's a bearing in the fan has gone, just I don't want to think of the worst case scenario, where the contents of the freezer thaw and drip. Guess I'll head to the kitchen later on, pretending it's the first time I've heard it.
"Do you know how long that fridge has been making that noise?" is his loving greeting.
"About an hour ago," I answer , wishing I could tell the whole lie I'd planned, instead of a half arsed one.

He's so clever and talented, a regular Mr Fix-it. He's rummaging around in our tool shed looking for a wrench or a screw driver, I guess. He's so resourceful, as the tool shed is a pathetic tiny cupboard that hangs above the washing machine in the laundry. Aren't I lucky to have a fridge mechanic in the house?
" Here's the lock for your bike," he says.

It's not the sort of bike thieves choose to steal, so a lock seems superfluous. This is a fact, as our two bikes were locked together in the car park in the bowels of this apartment complex, robbers hacksawed through the chain on the two bikes, took Lach's expensive one and left my cheap old crate. This is how I discovered our bikes were of different quality, as to my untrained eye, I had no idea that my bike was a lemon.
Looks like the fridge will be bbbbbbbbrrrrring through the night till I find a qualified fridge mechanic tomorrow who will whisk in and repair it.