Sunday, 2 January 2011

I'm getting old. The reason I know, is that I'm suffering from that great British ailment - forgetting to complain. And being told off for not doing so ;)

In November, someone spilt Cola in my three year old Colour Laser. I spent a small fortune cleaning it, and replacement toner, got it working of sorts, but little by little, it curled up it's tootsies and died. I stripped it down and rebuilt it, but, nah. Gorn.

Imagine my surprise, discovering that anxious to get people spending, websites were offering a better model, different manufacturer mind, at the price of ONE toner cartridge for my old printer. (They take four). Couldn't believe it (being a Yorkshireman) so scoured the net, and yup, it was true.

22/12, ordered printer, next day delivery. Received email confirming order, and tracking number for DPD. 23/12, checked tracking - parcel from supplier, fine, DPD to depot 2 miles away, cool. "Please ensure you are in to sign, you will ...". Magic.

Nuthin. 24/12. Nothing. Ah, well. 27/12 then?. Nope. Phoned DPD. "Sorry sir, it's in the van sir. Get back to you" Checked the website - goods in van as of 23rd. Waited. 28th, 29, 30th. 31/12 phoned again. "Ah. Seems the van came off the road. Parcel Damaged. Can't get hold of supplier, shut".

"Can you Phone them sir, ask them to resend?" No. Shut. Not open until 4/01. Holy cow.

So much for next day. Now I'm getting it in the ear from friends and relatives for not demanding compo, digging out the directors personal numbers, and making a pain of myself.

Can't win.


Had to ask the gas fitter to come in. Apparently, I get priority service because I "Have a disability", and I'm "vulnerable". Well cheers, and thanks for the reminder.

Fitter walks in, and notices 'Er 'Indoors on Facebook. "Don't mention F*book to me" he says, opening his toolbox. Oh dear, I said, trying to appear nonchalant. G'won, I thought. Don't ask Wheelie.

"I hate the fluking thing". Really? "Yes?" I said? "My missus said". Ah. He brandished a spanner at my boiler. "You know what my missus said?" Errr...."She said, " Crunch. "If I complain again, about her using F*book" Thump. "She's going to divorce me" Clatter.

"You know how OLD she is?" Now, y'see that's a loaded question. Bloke in his early fifties. Discretion was I decided, the better part of valour. Or in my case, Act Thick. So I said "Errrrr?".

"48" Um? "F**kin 48". Oh. 20 minutes of silence. "Thanks for listenin' mate". "Tara, said Bear" "Yer, yeh, right" he said frowning at her.

D'y'know, that's the second time that's happened? ;)

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