Monday, 14 March 2011

A lesson in Passing the Buck

One of my pet hates is when a company fobs responsibility onto a retailer when they produce faulty goods. This happened to us again at the weekend. Lily was reading The Borrowers, when having reached page 35, the book started again, and then skipped 50 pages when it reached the next page 35.

No worries, I said. Let's write an email to Penguin Books customer services, and I'm sure they will replace it for us. She spent quite a while composing it. To their credit, she received a reply today, but which flatly refused to replace it;

'Please note, Penguin cannot replace books purchased from bookshops. This
is because we sell our stock to the bookshops and they are then
responsible for dealing with any faulty products in accordance within
their own returns policies.'

Now, I can understand this approach to a degree, as it takes a lot of admin out of the business etc. and I honestly would do that if I knew where it was bought and by whom! This was a book given to her at xmas, along with various others, and I honestly cannot remember who it came from.

Well, I've replied with this information, and hoping for a (cue drum roll...) Exception to the Rule!

What do you think they will/should do?

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Picture the rare scene at 8.30 last Sunday morning:

- whole family lazing smugly around in cosy White Company bathrobes.
- sun filtering through windows for the first time in months.
- kids being pleasant to each other.
- Mr & Mrs G being pleasant to each other.
- croissants gently crisping in oven.
- warm smell of coffee filling kitchen.
- virgin Sunday Times waiting to be lazily perused.
- dog snoring contentedly on bed
- phone call to say football canceled.
- only one job on the list: to change water filter under the sink...


- water gushing out of filter in all directions.
- said water filling kitchen at alarming rate and creeping quickly towards new Designers Guild rug.
- Mr G. desperately trying to stem flow and screeching for buckets.
- Mrs G frantically turning stop-cock under sink to no avail (White Company bathrobe and blow dry now soaking wet).
- Lily standing in the middle of kitchen, sobbing loudly.
- dog running round in demented circles
- Sam hopping about in a Rumplestiltskin panic.
- smell of burning croissants.
- drenched Sunday Times.


- Mrs G tearing down driveway in sopping, flapping bathrobe and wellington boots while flashing lady garden to BT man up a telegraph pole as she leaps over giant muddy puddles.
- Mrs G desperately scrabbling around in dirt to find water meter lid.
- Mrs G realising that BT van is parked over water meter.
- Mrs G yelling at BT Man to please move his van and get out his screwdriver to help open lid.
- Mrs G inserting entire arm into meter hole full of muddy water to find valve and turn off water.
- Mrs G tearing back up drive to see if water had stopped, dragging BT man with her, as if Knight in Shining Armour.

- Mr G and Sam (having found a role) still bucket filling and emptying while Lily stands in 1 inch of water, sobbing loudly.
- Mr G shrieking at Lily to empty the towel cupboard to soak up water.
- Mrs G frantically looking up Thames Water emergency number while BT man mumbles something about stop cocks.

- BT man reaches under kitchen sink to turn stop cock. The other way. Water stops.

- awkward conversation about how strange it was that it didn't work the first time?
- BT man leaves looking very confused - did he just imagine that?


Mr & Mrs G laugh like drains for rest of the day.