anti-fix

Yesterday I finally made my daughter Tanglewest’s birthday cake, nearly a week after it should have been delivered. The fact that no one seems to have been unduly upset by the tardiness of the confection makes me think we have a cheerful and flexible household, but I may simply be crashingly insensitive.

I broke the electric chopper while making the cake. Not surprising: it was the wrong tool, far too small a device. I put hard Belgian cooking chocolate in and, fully aware of the possible devastation, pushed the button. (It’s hard to concentrate on anything here in Yeti Nivas right now as the flies are frantically copulating everywhere, including my trackpad. Is it fun if you’re that small and shortlived? Is it better with wings?) The chopper, already a battered device with worrying cracks in the shaft, splintered and ground to a noisy halt.

Now bear in mind that my obsession with clearing out an old gatepost hole drove me to ruin an old, but still serviceable, power drill last month. That’s two non-recyclables ruined. Not good.

Fortunately they still had bargain food processors in the vast-bin-of-stuff section at the local Lidl. They looked a bit tatty—boxes taped up and crumpled corners—but they were bound to be cheap and if they didn’t work, well, I could struggle to get one that did.

After a wonderful morning walking along the Don with three children and a strumpet-dog (it’s not just the flies; the dog is in heat) I plunged into Lidl and retrieved one of the last two machines. They were cheap, too, only £25. We met Bhavana on the way back and it was a happy expedition that walked back through the door of Yeti Nivas.

After a suitable pause I set about assembling the new machine, which of course didn’t work. I put the bits together in a sensible fashion, but it simply didn’t come on. I tried a different socket, checked the plug, all the usual procedures – nothing. Cheap goods, what do you expect, right? Shifting into justified consumer warrior mode, I emailed a firm message to the support centre and got the details and authorization I needed to contact another repair/replace clearing centre; and then I sent them their own firm printed letter with a crisp image of the receipt. Job done. I sorted out the children, now squabbling, posted the letter, fiddled around on the computer for another few minutes, then went into the kitchen for a coffee. While it was brewing I loitered in the kitchen with a purposeless mind and looked at the broken machine again. I looked at the manual again. I did what the manual said I should do, but this time it all worked perfectly.

How much anger and frustration? How many people’s time wasted? Who can wait for muddy water to clear? It was my expectations that were broken, not the machine.