British Gas: the unchallenged champions of sticker sticking.

British Gas: the masters of the sticking of stickers.

Lick my Decals off baby!

What’s so funny about the word flaccid anyhow?

Things you can’t say on Facebook; the dark machinery of Hobbycraft!

Etc.

Hello how are you?

The modern world is total balls. It really is.

Sometimes it really makes me chuckle to myself.

Sometimes it makes me yearn for the simple stone-age or even Iron-age days when all you had to do was bash the brains out of people who got on your nerves…..then wear their skin as an overcoat….

For example our Gas fire, and our boiler.

I’ve no doubt related the story of our house. Just buying it was a bit of a struggle. It was the only house we looked at. I was tasked with locating properties to view- because I’m like Google…I’m a fucking search engine. My Dad seems to think I’m his search engine too when I’m back at my folks house. Dunno what that says about me. I’m certainly not a technological type- I’ve just managed to keep up with the dizzy march of computer based bollocks so far in my lifetime.

It was the only house in our price range that wasn’t essentially a little boxy hell-hole. I mean I searched a lot, I spent so much time on the Aberdeen Solicitors Property register that I was neglecting my guitar and favourite porn sites, it was getting silly. The living room was the clincher. It was nice and big. Where do you spend most of your time in your house? Well, there you go. The living room is the place.

I spend a lot of time lurking in the kitchen as well though, cooking and slurping the occasional glass of red from Iceland. But I have a wee stereo set up that picks up Radio 4 so it keeps me amused.

It was , castle Woodside, however a bit neglected, and the folk that were selling it were a bit unreasonable. This was probably due to some rather hefty sad-face back story ripe for the likes of Jeremy Kyle and not me to get to grips with. Anyway, after much wrangling we bought it and the boilers been a pain in the arse ever since.

I like the house though. We’re on a nice street of mostly old Mill workers houses, the neighbours are all nice people and we are future proof for a quiet life- there’s a railway on one side and the river on the other. No dodgy development problems for us,

NOT IN MY BACK YARD YOU COCKS!

The fire. It always worked, Its one of those pretend fires- running on gas with chintzy fake coals. But it’s nice- puts out a fare bit of heat and is, dare I say it quite comforting to have going on cold winter nights in darkest primaeval Aberdeen.

I don’t really recall the exact time when the fire became an issue as such- my wife has been what I have diagnosed as bat-shit mental since dropping the sprog and what goes on inside her mind is a mystery to me, and probably to her. Anyway, one day pretty much out of the blue she decided that something needed to be done about the Gas fire. It was working fine, let me repeat- IT WAS WORKING FINE- FLAMES AND EVERYTHING!, but, for some reason she decided that it was in desperate need of servicing. Now British Gas do all our gas appliance servicing- we pay them an amount a month and they come rolling out if the boiler breaks down and eventually fix the fucking thing, after moaning about it, complaining about the quality of the boiler and tramping shit from the cellar up into the house.

Do try to stay awake during this rant, it might get quite fucking boring.

An initial call to British Gas pissed her off. Yes they would have a look at the fire, and it was covered to some extent by our existing maintenance contract, the only problem was that they couldn’t fit in a visit for a couple of months. This was the problem. Months. Inventive as ever my wife returned the call claiming that she thought the fire was a hazard, and that she was experiencing headaches when the fire was operating. I’ve never gotten to the bottom of this one, I don’t think she was getting headaches, I mean she gets headaches- but I really don’t think the fire was to blame. God even just typing this is making me realise the strange fog that I wade through every day.

This clinched the deal for British Gas. As soon as she uttered the phrase “I think it’s giving me a sore head” they were on the case. I suspect this was because they smelled money. I suspect they are not really motivated by safety and impartiality, I suspect they are on targets and have to achieve unreasonable KPI’s. I suspect it’s just not like it used to be in the olden days…..

So they sent an engineer round. I happened to be there. They didnae put much effort in, I expected them to produce some fancy gadget to measure the carbon-monoxide levels of the room or something, I mean I’ve no idea about that kind of shit…I do however understand what happens when you give a moron a laptop and very little training.

The problem was the label on the the fire, or more accurately the lack of a label. See, the way it worked they explained to us was that they had a data base of models on the laptop- and all they had to do was check with the instructions on the database on how to deal with the appliance.

I mean I could do that. Nae problem. They were supposed to be proffesional!

But the manufacturers badge on the bottom of the fire was so covered in shit and worn that none of them could make it out. So they proclaimed it fucked. No test, they didnae even switch the fucking thing on.

Then they stuck a silly red triangle warning sticker on it..

Fucking great stuff min.

right I’m getting sick of this now. It’s like two A.M or some shit like that.

C

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B

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