In a spin

I had planned to write a scholarly analysis of why Ed Milliband is doomed to failure as the leader of the Labour party.  It would have been great, honest.  But then a man with a spanner infuriated me and I decided to wallow yet again in the minutiae of my domestic frustrations.  I wasn't joking when I named this thing.  Before I veer off, check out this article by Guardian cartoonist Steve Bell about why Ed's boggly eyes will be his undoing.

Right.  My washing machine broke a few weeks ago.  The frustration this caused was tempered by the rare thrill of knowing exactly what was wrong, like a real man who understands machines. The heating element was bollocksed. I know this because a) it wasn't heating up and b) exactly the same bit broke a few months ago.

I was almost looking forward to the man coming to fix it so I could impress him with my know-how.  Unfortunately it didn't go quite as planned.  We got off on the wrong foot when he tried to get into the flat by alternately leaning on and tapping the buzzer to my flat while I shrieked "Just push the door!" into the intercom.  A morse code expert may have been able to discern a message in the beeps.  "I will under no circumstances fix your washing machine", perhaps.

I got him in and proudly unveiled my heater theory.  He looked at me blankly and then looked at the washing machine even more blankly.  He opened up his case to access a laptop, and started to send emails to a person unknown.  They may have read "Man keeps pointing at large white box. What is this thing?".  He eventually decided he would have to drag the machine out of the cupboard, whereupon he almost crushed himself between the machine and the door behind.  Unable to bear watching him straddle the corner of the unit, trying to decide which way to topple, I left him to his own devices.

A little later he emerged looking triumphant.  All fixed.  No sir, your heater theory was wrong - the motherboard was broken and I've replaced it.  Hurrah! I said.  Guess I'm not such an expert after all!  As he left I put in a load of by now quite whiffy washing.  20 minutes later I was back on the phone to Indesit, breaking the news that it was still completely bollocksed.

Me: "Can the man come back and fix the heating element please?"
Indesit: "Afraid not, sir.  He's a standard engineer, and only senior engineers carry that part."
Me: "But...so...hang on, why did you send him in the first place then?"
Indesit: "Aha!  Well, we didn't think the heater would have been the problem.  You'll have to make an appointment for a different day."
Me: "But...I said when I called before what the problem was....hhhhnnggghhh....ok.  What's the tightest time-frame for a new appointment that you can give me?"
Indesit: "All of Monday?"
Me: "Maybe a touch tighter?"

And so it ended with an appointment for 8 days hence.  Bastards.  In the meantime I've acquired an expensive habit for having my shirts laundered at work.  To go back to my crease-tastic ironing style will be a hell of a blow.