Right.
We had the TV in a box for about 8 months but got it out at Christmas for our guests (tho there wasnothing on worth watching) and then I couldn't be arsed to put it away again.
Then it went wrong. Totally dead. No point having £700 pounds worth of dead telly in the corner, so I found a local repairman in the Yellow Pages and called him. Incomprehensible Glaswegian accent and very shouty. Doesn't listen. Impossible to get a word in edgeways. So he turns up to collect it. He looks exactly like Stanley Baxter. IN the meantime Mrs Nick wants to watch summat on the telly so we get out an old 12 inch set so she can do that.
After a week he calls up and yells at me in Glaswegian some shite about circuit boards and power surges. The one thing I do get is the repair price: £300
He delivers it back to us on Satruday and then discovers the remote control is not working. He produces a hooooooge box of remote controls from his car and proceeds to test each one to see if he can find one that werks the set. Running commentary throughout which neither of us can understand. We suspect it's a fake accent designed to confuse us.
He burbles about 'My little Kyle' till we feel like killing him. By now it is 6.00.
He announces that he will return to his workshop and find some more remote controls and return. He turns up again at 8.30 carrying a mahoosive telly
He yells at us that since ours is stil not werking he cannot leave us at the mercy of a little 12inch set and has brought a temporary replacement. We say that we don't want it. He insists (loudly) and positions it in front of the dead telly. It has a 60 inch screen
He then says he will have to order a new remote control (cost unknown at that point) and then spends anothor hour retuning the unwanted telly yelling in Glaswegian throughout. He leaves at 9.45!
He has now returned with a new remote control (£25) and removed the mahoosive telly. He lost his footing on the ice as he left the house and dropped it
The end
