There have been several times recently when I have thought about blogging and then restrained myself. The thing is, I don’t want this blog to become a forum for my personal whinges and gripes. It’s not very pleasant to read, I know.
So I shall keep it brief. I’ll get all my little complaints into this post, and I promise to come back tomorrow, more cheerful.
I have a repair booked for my washing machine. For the third time since early December. Apparently, AEG Lavamat washer dryers are absolutely guaranteed to fail if you don’t use the dryer regularly. I’ve been told to make sure I use it every fortnight for at least twenty minutes even in the middle of a heatwave. These are the washer dryers that have been put in as standard by the developer, in some of the houses on this estate. The engineer has been out to fix the same problem in four houses so far, out of the fewer than 100 who have these machines installed. I hate to think how much this would have cost to fix if it had happened out of warranty. Three call outs at £66 a time, a new door lock, a new heater element and a new PCB. Hopefully that last will fix the problem.
I had a BSE. That’s a Bad Shopping Experience, with a very appropriate acronym as it definitely turns me into a mad cow. We popped into Tesco to pick up three things. We came out with only one and a half. The Google Play voucher, we picked up OK. School trousers for Mr 6 was next. Now, I am aware that it is not the time of year to be buying school trousers, but Mr 6 has broken through the knees of four pairs since September, not having been informed that he’s only allowed to fall over and damage his clothes in July, and is beginning to look a trifle neglected and unkempt. I did eventually find a pair that would do. They are age 4-5, and show a rakish amount of ankle, but need to be pinned in two inches round his waist. Now don’t be misled. When I saw Mr 6 looks neglected, that does not mean underfed. I had a letter after he was weighed and measured last year, saying he was on the 61st percentile. Having said that, though, the letter failed to mention whether it was the 61st percentile for height, or for weight, or for BMI, or for his actual age, or for the Reception year as a whole. Whichever it was, I hate to think which percentile he would have to reach for that pair of trousers to fit properly. And they didn’t have elastic with buttons in the waist. And we bought the last pack of two when we really needed four.
… And breathe …..
So I went off to find some ricotta. There was no ricotta. There was a section a metre and a half wide by two metres tall filled with various cheeses, ready grated. There were two shelves of processed cheese slices in various brands and levels of fat and shades of orange. I was becoming a mad cow by this point, mumbling about how there was plenty of rubbish on the shelf for people too lazy to spent two minutes using a grater, but no ricotta. We had cheddar and lentil stuffing in our butternut squashes for tea that night. I grated the cheese myself.
And I couldn’t pay for what we bought on my credit card. My credit card had been chopped up and binned, because someone had used my card number to order £1,200 of electrical equipment, and I was waiting for my new one. One question has arisen from the process that followed this fraud. If the computer detects fraud, and instantly contacts the cardholder by phone, and the cardholder confirms that no, they haven’t just placed two identical, very large orders at a particular retailer, why does that transaction still get processed? Why do you have to wait two days until it appears on your statement and only then dispute it? I do hope there’s logic in there somewhere.
That wasn’t just a short one, was it? Sorry.
More cheer available tomorrow!