I would like to be a medieval peasant. 11-yo has been learning about them in History, and I’ve decided I want to be one.
No waiting in for Telecoms Engineers.
No seven-week wait for internet access.
No phoning PlusNet because the promised router hasn’t arrived in the post. After seven weeks.
No having to take back a faulty mobile phone to Tesco to be exchanged.
No aggravating washer-dryer which shrinks your fleeces and your sons’ favourite team sports tops, even on the lowest setting.
No customer care helplines who purport to want to register your appliance so they can activate the warranty, but who in reality want the opportunity to sell you various options for extended warranties, which you can’t say “no” to until you’ve listened to the tedious details, because you’re too polite to interrupt someone talking at you in full flow.
No wrangling with moving companies about insurance claims for broken items.
No having to decide whether to start the laptop in safe mode or not, on the basis of less than zero knowledge of what that means.
No intermittent fault on the new microwave, so that it cuts out randomly. Alas, I see another customer care helpline in my near future.
No having to set the date and time on endless appliances to the sound of electronic beeps.
No having to choose between thirty-five thousand different house insurance companies.
No lengthy forms to fill in register at a GP’s surgery.
No having to remember to put the paper between the name tape and the iron, unless you want a white sticky mess on the plate of the iron.
No having to going to Pilates.
And I bet a first class stamp didn’t cost 60p.
It’s back to the Dark Ages for me. Bring it on. Scratchy clothes, cold house, mud everywhere, matted hair, warty face. Untreated verrucas on your children’s feet. Wattle and daub (whatever that was). Nothing to look forward to except jolly wassailing at Yuletide, followed by the Black Death. I suppose I might miss my creature comforts, but at least no-one would say to me “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
I love this, was with you all the way and at the end....
ReplyDeleteI hate to disenchant you further, but I'm afraid if the verruca can't be frozen off, or still won't go away, the NHS won't have it cut out, nor warts nor any other 'non essential' cosmetic surgery. I preferred it in the Dark Ages, when yr local GP relished a bit of lumps & bumps surgery.
ReplyDeleteLove it, big old whinge. This is one of the most tedious things about moving, isn't it, all the bureaucracy and paperwork and waiting in for people. Ugh. I'm sorry to hear the removal company broke things - should I think twice about using them again?
ReplyDeleteOh my goodness - seven weeks? Is that standard in Scotland?
ReplyDeleteSometimes technology and bureaucracy overwhelm me, too - but then I think about things like no anesthesia for dental procedures (actually, no dental procedures), seriously short life expectancy, and primitive plumbing arrangements, and I guess it's a fair exchange....
Wow, it sounds like you need a little getaway from all that hassle. Come down here for a visit :) Join me for 'Blogger's Tea' in London on Oct 2nd. Please oh please oh please? I'd love to meet you!!
ReplyDeleteSo the move is going well then? On the plus side, at least you're not living on a building site. I feel medieval peasants might have lived more comfortably than we are right now
ReplyDeleteThere is a lot to be said for the dark ages except I have been watching Horrible Histories with the boys lately and I am not too sure about the old food stakes back then...
ReplyDeleteMust have been lovely; as long as you didn't die from plague/flu/infected cut!
ReplyDeleteYes but those wattle and daub improvement guys still used to find a way to bug you.
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