The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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10:58am on Wednesday, 8th September, 2010:
Back in February, we bought my mother a new flat-screen TV as a Christmas/birthday present, as her old one (which is to say our last-but-two one) was not up to receiving digital television signals. It picked up more channels and took up a lot less room than her old CRT model, so it was deemed a success.
Unfortunately, as I have mentioned before, my mother has some kind of anti-technology aura that she emanates, and after a couple of months a red vertical line appeared on it. After another three months she mentioned it to me, as she thought perhaps it shouldn't be there. As it was still under guarantee, an engineer came out last week to have a look at it. He removed the back, took a set of photographs, then returned to head office. Two days ago, more engineers appeared and took away the whole TV so they could fix it.
So far, so good. However, they didn't give my mother a replacement TV. This is not a good idea. My mother is the kind of person who never, ever drinks tea except when there's a power cut and she can't boil a kettle: then she wants to drink tea. Now, as her TV has gone, she wants desperately to watch every programme she's even tangentially interested in. As a result, I'm having to loan her the small TV we have in our kitchen for my wife to watch at the weekend while she's creating one of the four cullinary masterpieces she knows how to create that everyone in the house will eat. It took me 20 minutes to get the damned thing off the wall, turning partially-obscured screws with an Allen-key head a quarter — or in one, magical case, a half — of a rotation at a time.
Having done this, I fully expect that later today the engineers will unexpectedly return and deliver my mother's old TV back, now fixed. Then, I can have the fun of putting the kitchen TV back on the wall again.
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