So this weekend we’ve been suffering. On Friday one of the worst household tragedies that can happen to a family, happened to us. On Friday our washing machine ceased to function. This is bad. This is very bad. I have a husband who runs and cycles. We work on our allotment. The Boy has experienced a slight backtracking of his potty-trainedness and The Girl is not just the world’s biggest vomiter, but she’s in cloth nappies.
I rang Bosch, but apparently two and half years is outside the realms of the ‘sales and goods act’ term of ‘reasonable time’. I rang John Lewis who, bless them, lived up to their rep of excellent customer service (Thanks Nick – you were a sweetie) and offered to make a contribution towards repair or replacement even though it was outside the two-year period of their built-in warrantee.
Currently I’m awaiting a call-back from a local domestic appliances repair firm in the hopes they’ll be somewhat less expensive than the sky-high prices charged by Bosch’s own engineers.
In the meantime I am relying on the kindness of friends and neighbours and, probably, the Mater when she does her Angel of Mercy routine again tomorrow. I would have used the laundrette, but the only one in town was closed down last year and the next nearest that I know of is a 25 minute drive away. Totally not doing that with two kids unless I absolutely have to.
So, if you get the chance, send up a prayer to the appliance Gods for us. I have maybe two more days’ grace, then I’m going to have to strap on the rubber gloves and get to handwashing our smalls. Yay.