The tumble dryer clearly felt in need of a bit of attention, and decided to go about it by making a distinctly weird noise, like something Bjork would have released in the 90s. And so I called a man out to look at it.
He did what usually happens in these circumstances. He removed bits of the offending machine, peered into the recesses, stood up, sucked his teeth and I just knew what was coming.
It was condemned faster than an X-Factor hopeful from Hull who turned up in a dress made by her granny and had a tale to tell of woe and redemption, but couldn’t sing for toffee.
Operation Acquire A Dryer was launched. Like a midnight ninja on a quest, I took on the mission alone.
The last major appliance we bought was the telly, and the Yorkshireman took six long, heartbreaking months of research before I finally blew a gasket and ran howling to the telly selling outlet to point like a wild woman at the nearest nice-looking flat screen 48 incher screaming “THAT ONE”.
All things considered, I managed pretty well. I surfed about the Worldwideinterweb, found a website called something like ElectricalThingsOnLine.com, machine chosen, ordered, paid for, delivery sorted. By jingo, I might be let out by myself.
My problems had only just begun. They called the very next morning. Was I the person who had ordered the machine? Yes, I was. Was the delivery date satisfactory? Yes, pretty much, since it was me who set it. Did I find the website easy to use? Well, I figured the answer to that was yes, since I had managed to place the order.
Why did I . . ? Must be honest, here, I don’t know what that question was, since I lost the plot there, told a load of lies about being in a meeting (I was, if by being in a meeting you mean sitting in your jammies watching Breakfast Telly and agreeing with Carol the Weather about the rain) and hung up.
They called back in the afternoon. They just wanted to check my customer satisfaction levels. I said if I had any customers they’d probably be quite happy. They were building up steam for another interrogation but I forestalled this by saying I was having a hot flush and I’d have to go and stand in a cold shower for half an hour. That was a fib, on this occasion, at least.
They called again, about ten minutes ago, about my customer experience. This is like being followed home by the staff of Tesco cross-examining you about your recent purchase of turnips.
The machine hasn’t actually been delivered yet. I’m expecting someone from the call centre to move in with it.
God not fussed for Brian’s life
When the Monty Python team made a film about a person mistaken for Jesus (and please note, that mistake is a salient part of the plot) a chap called Pastor Jack Glass went truly, epically Old Testament on Glasgow City Council and called down hellfire, brimstone and the wrath of the rate-payer.
The film, he thundered, whilst standing in the rain outside the City Chambers, was blasphemous.
The council sighed, and unofficially banned Life Of Brian until 2004. We sighed, and saw it in Wishaw, whose council clearly felt that fire from heaven was the least of their worries.
Pastor Glass worked for God, but I’m not sure He knew, because Pastor Glass was one of those employees who damage the brand, like that rude check-in on the desk of Ryanair.
Jack clearly was punching above his payscale, because the Almighty, despite being apparently omnipotent, didn’t seem too bothered about a film about a crazy mix-up between his son and a chap called Brian.
So what if the film, the book or the cartoon is offensive to your god? Leave it to your god. After all, isn’t he all-powerful?
T-rextasy at the zoo!
Edinburgh Zoo’s getting dinosaurs! Oh yes! Doesn’t the heart race at the idea of a T-Rex atop the hill, glaring down over Corstorphine? Mind you, bet they won’t be able to get them to breed, either.
First day back Oh no, it’s not!
So, back to school week, eh? Yes, that first day back, what a grind, no lie-ins, get those sarnies packed, dig out the gym kit and pack that new school bag.
Get a good breakfast in the lad, send him on his way, through the darkness of that cold, January morn.
And welcome him back a mere 25 minutes later when he comes home and tells his mum that, in fact, the first day of term is the next day.
Yes, I was that mother.
His customer satisfaction levels are pretty low, it has to be said.