For Christmas my Mum sent me a Morphy Richards Slow Cooker. I love it. When we were little and had to get up at 6 to get ready for school, seeing the slow cooker out on the counter at breakfast meant that dinner was going to be GREAT. Usually it was beef stew with loads of gravy, carrots and potatoes. To this day there is nothing I would rather eat than a slow cooker potato. *
Now that I'm married and have to get up to go to work even earlier than I used to have to get up for school, (anyone care to explain how that works? Answers on a postcard) Mum decided that I needed a slow cooker of my very own.
I've used it exactly twice. The first time I made a really nice beef stew (with extra potatoes) and it was everything I remembered. The second time I used it was to make a lamb and lentil dish that was in the recipe book.
Halfway through the cooking time there was an ominous crack. At the time I was worried about the lid, but not seeing anything wrong, dismissed the noise and enjoyed the lamb and lentils (with potatoes). It was great. I was in starch and legume heaven.**
Until I started cleaning up. That's when Husbando noticed the sticky, blackened mess inside the bottom of the slow cooker. That's when I found the giant crack across the bottom of the ceramic insert.
Thankfully Morphy Richards has a two year guarantee and a helpful After Sales division.+ They promised to send out a replacement ceramic insert asap, all I had to do was send them a photocopy of my proof of purchase and my address. Simple.
Except that it has now been three weeks since I sent the information in and still no ceramic insert. I phoned the After Sales division this morning to find out what had happened. Again with the fantastic. Instead of saying, we sent it, you have to take it up with the delivery company, they spoke to DHL for me and found out that the insert had been delivered to my neighbours on the 13th and signed for by Shifty McNeighbourson.
Interesting. DHL had actually shoved a card through our door to say that they had tried to deliver something to us and hadn't been able to. They didn't leave a package number, but scrawled on the card that the package had been accepted next door. We went next door and asked. Nope. No packages accepted here. Sorry. We called DHL to see if maybe they still had the package in the depot. Although they have a number on the card for inquiries, in two days of calling we never once got through.++ This was annoying for many reasons, the least of which being that a number of people have recently sent us things in the post and we had no way of knowing whose package was now missing.
I went next door after my chat with Morphy Richards armed with Shifty McNeighbourson's full name and was told that actually, Shifty hasn't been seen 'in awhile' and that no one knew where he was. This in itself isn't that unusual because we live next door to a 'recovery centre'. It's a halfway house for recovering addicts and none of the people who live there are ever there for more than about six months. Sometimes they are great and the lawn gets cut, there are no piles of oozing rubbish outside the back door and no noises at four am. I like it when I have that kind of neighbour, doubly so when I can see someone seriously building a new life for themselves. Other times, not so much with the good, and we spend inordinate amounts of time on the phone with the Key Workers who run the house explaining that the council has an excellent rubbish collection scheme, if only tenants will cooperate by putting the bags at the front of the house for collection rather than in a large, festering and ever growing mound next to our shared fence. We are also in constant contact about Ted Decibel, who kindly shares his love of rap music well into the early hours of my weeknights, but that's a saga all on its own.
Back to Shifty - who seemingly signed for my slow cooker insert and vanished with it into the ether. Had it been the entire cooker, or some other reasonably expensive electronic gadget, I'd be sure that Shifty had taken himself off to the nearest pub to sell off my stuff and buy himself enough booze to blot out the smell of garbage when he eventually returned home. But who is going to buy the ceramic insert for a slow cooker? It's useless on its own and unless there is some kind of black market in kitchen gadgets (hmmm, wait a minute.........) that I don't know about, Shifty is going to be sorely disappointed. It's not even proper theft as far as I'm concerned - it's stupidity. It's like stealing packing peanuts or vacuum cleaner bags. All it serves to do is piss me off.
I've spoken with the Key Worker again today and she still hasn't found Shifty. She's rightly more concerned about her missing tennant than my missing package, but she has promised to contact mei f it should turn up. In the meanime, I'm going in search of this Kitchen Gadget black market. That's the kind of crime I can get behind.
* Except maybe a lemon soaked Greek potato. I'm addicted to starch.
**Starch Heaven is a blissful place that any carbohydrate addict will be happy to tell you about. Screw people who tell you that too many carbs are bad for you. If I'm eating potatoes I'm too distracted by happiness to want to stab you in the eye no matter how much you annoy me. Not being stabbed in the eye is on my list of good things.
+ I'm not kidding, they were really nice. I refuse to continue shopping with companies that are rude, unhelpful or obstructive. Good customer service goes a very long way.
++ This is bad customer service. This sort of behaviour makes me want to stab you in the eye, potato or no potato. If you are going to list a number for inquiries, make sure someone is on the other end to bloody answer them!
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