Tag Archives: Bitch

Do we ever get what we pay for?

Commensurate with the apparent attitude of those who make and/or sell stuff these days to whit: not my problem, almost nothing one buys bears any serious resemblance to or conforms to the attendant spiel of the thing advertised. Fast food consumers would be well aware that this is the case, the puny, dry, either overcooked or undercooked hamburger never quite the same thing as the nearly appetising example pictured on the brightly lit overhead menu.

The washing machine which breaks down the very day the warrantee expires is no doubt engineered to do just that; likewise the dishwasher, the refrigerator, the toaster, the oven, the computer and all manner of gadgets and labour saving machines.

Several years ago, the garden begging fruit trees to keep us nourished should there be some devastating natural or unnatural disaster, we bought, at some expense, and planted, at great pains, several saplings which purported to be in one case an English mulberry, supposed to fruit in summer and produce luscious large black mulberries, in another an avocado which we were assured didn’t need a mate, and in another a Macedonian blood orange. The mulberry turned out to be the kind which produces sweet but tasteless white fruit, the avocado, growing to gigantic proportions and needing annual or biannual pruning of a radical kind has never produced so much as one edible progeny, and the blood orange turned out to be the humble valencia. I’m sure there have been other bogus plants we’ve forked out for over the years, but their lives were short and now lost to memory.

Fortunately, as with all tragedy, there is one compensating factor which, though not making the exercise worthwhile, certainly ameliorates the grief and pain. The offending trees, when hacked to mere shadows of their former selves or removed entirely, make enormous piles of useful mulch with the operation of a machine engineered to cut the branches into little pieces. I expect the warrantee will expire this afternoon or tomorrow morning, at which point we may have to fashion the multitude of sawn branches into spears and arrows and conduct a strategic attack upon the local retailer who sold just one dodgy machine too many.



Filed under A Bit Of A Bitch