So, obviously, the pissing boiler was absolutely fine today when the guy was coming to fix it.
Lit first time.
Every fricking time.
All the guy could do was clean things on the off-chance something he’s cleaned might have been a problem but… yeah, it was absolutely fine and dandy. Where was he yesterday when I was reduced to a shivering wreck in the shower, huh? Or when I was trying to get the boiler to light last night when it was cold.
I think it’s because we’ve threatened it with scrappage if it doesn’t buck its ideas up. It knows its time is limited now. It can sense it. And it’s trying to prove that it’s not a dick. That it wants to heat water. Like any good little boiler should.
There’s another person coming tomorrow to give us a quote on a new boiler. I’ll make sure we do all the discussions around the old boiler, so it knows how much it has let us down.
According to an email we’ve received, the appointment is going to take around an hour and a half. Ninety bloody minutes. Just for me to make sharp intakes of breath through my teeth whenever prices are mentioned. What the hell do they need to do for ninety minutes. I can’t understand it. But they didn’t mention that when I discussed it today – not once was it mentioned that an eight of my day would be lost to talking about boilers.
I have already told them how many bedrooms we have and that there is a lack of both children and pensioners in the house. What more do they need to know. We just need a thing that heats water for radiators and showers and isn’t a massive bell-end whenever we rely on it.
That doesn’t take an hour and half, surely.
I can’t wait…