The machine that walks across the room: shipping bolts, level feet, one towel

A front-loader that shifts two centimetres a spin is one of the loudest problems in a house and among the most mechanically simple - the drum is a heavy mass on springs, and every cause is one of four things: it's still bolted for the journey, the feet aren't sharing the floor, the load can't balance, or the dampers have aged out. The machine's own spin-down hesitation is a fifth thing that is not a fault.

The checks, in the order that costs nothing

1. Shipping bolts - the six-month surprise: three or four long bolts through the back hold the drum's suspension solid for delivery, and the manual's one-page diagram begs you to remove them before the first wash. The classic story here is not the brand-new machine that jumped on day one - it's the one installed months ago with the bolts quietly still in, walking itself into a wall while the bearings take the punishment. Back panel, spanner, done; and keep them in the box flat for the next move.
2. The wobble test: press a top corner diagonally - any rocking at all means the feet aren't sharing the floor (and concrete floors are rarely flat). Adjust the screw-in feet until the cabinet is rigid against the press in all four corners, then tighten the locknuts against the base - a loose locknut undoes the whole job in a week of spins.
3. The single-item thump: one heavy blanket or a single jacket balls up on one side of the drum at high speed - the machine tries, the suspension reaches its travel, the room shakes, and the UE or CE code stops the spin on many boards: that fault-light-after-a-big-item load is the machine working correctly. Wash bulky things in pairs, throw in a spare towel as ballast, and use the lower spin speed for the duvet.

The parts that age, and the ones to leave to someone else

Front-loaders hang their tub on springs and damp it with small friction shock-absorbers at the base; after a decade of 1,200-rpm lives, the dampers harden or their eyes break - the tell is a machine that thunders into spin and stops the drum by hand and feels loose, then springs back more than once. The shocks are cheap, standard-size parts and the two-hand job is a panel-off, clip-off swap - one of the few internal repairs this desk will bless with a straight face. Springs that have jumped their slots walk the machine the same way and re-seat with the lid off. What they graduate to: a roar that grows with the spin and a drum that plays catch with its own bearing - that's the outer-bearings story, and the sump-splitting labour crosses into "is it worth it" arithmetic with the appliance guide rather than a weekend. One last prevention line, free: after the bolts come out and the feet set, nothing lives on top of the machine - the loose change jar and the detergent box on a lid that shakes are how a levelled machine becomes a rattling one, and the walk-in floor is where small children's fingers learn physics.