Skip to main content

A rant about melting cookers, empty promises and inept repairmen

Am currently embroiled in a Herculean attempt to have my cooker repaired. So far it has taken nigh on three weeks and two different sets of 'technicians' - possibly misnamed as so far they have failed to display much in the way of any kind of technique (except for champion level ar*e and head scratching, and a dose of dumb insolence) - and my oven is still refusing to cook anything properly. Plus the knobs are in the early stages of melting due to the seal having broken (the one thing they have so far managed to repair, whoopee) and the timer doesn't work.

One technician announced that he couldn't fix the problem as he wasn't an oven specialist (then what are you doing in my house under the pretence that you are here to fix that particular appliance, eh? Explain me that, sunny Jim!)

Another one, a self-professed 'oven expert', insisted that there is nothing wrong with my cr*ppy oven despite the fact that the gas flame stays the same whatever the temperature on the dial indicates. I may not be an 'oven expert' but I do possess half a brain and a highly developed ability to spot bullsh*t in all its guises (didn't work in PR for all those years for nothing, y'know).

Numerous Sharaf customer service grunts have apologised profusely, assuring me in honeyed tones that the problem will be fixed very quickly and brilliantly by their fabulous technical task force super-team - no doubt reading verbatim from their 'How To Get Rid Of Annoying Customers Double Quick' handbook before putting the phone down and laughing uproarously at the idiotic utterances of yet another angry fool with an impotent axe to grind. Well, despite the assurances of these silver tongued charmers I am still the disgruntled owner of an oven that doesn't work properly. The Dali-esque knobs and the silent timer are merely the final insult.

Sharaf, Sharaf, Sharaf... come and fix my oven. Pretty please?



The Dotterel said…
Don't talk to me about ovens... our Hotpoint version decided to explode on Christmas Eve of all occasions... made cooking the turkey the following day a little tricky!

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …