The Bushcutter Saga

The first thing to say is that we’re having unseasonably warm weather. It’s normally quite mild in October but not this warm! I can usually remember the last time I swam in the pool the previous year and it’s usually mid-September when the night chill cools the water down to a painful 18 degrees but this year, the water temperature is staying stubbornly above 20 so it’s a delight to plunge into the pool after some gardening or log cutting.

The numerous visitors this year have benefited from the pleasant summer we’ve had and by ‘pleasant’ I mean that it does not get much hotter than 85 degrees (or 29c) although when my family came out in June, the gauge topped 107 degrees (42c) which is pretty hot by anyone’s standards.   But by and large, it’s been a lovely summer.

The nice, but not too hot weather meant I was able to get the debrusailleuse out and attack the brambles which were threatening to take over, but as usual my Stihl Bushcutter  wouldn’t work when required. This meant another run-in with the shop who sold it – it had already been returned twice not long after I bought it last May.

Those who have long memories will recall that my last bushcutter was left out in the rain and the surly mechanic had said that it was water damaged and unrepairable. Nothing is unrepairable so I assumed he meant that it was uneconomic to repair it so I bit the bullet and shelled out a not inconsiderable £600 for a new machine having been given a £200 allowance against my ‘unusable’ Stihl. Stupidly, I forgot to see if the ‘unrepairable’ bushcutter was on sale the next time I passed the mechanic’s shop.

Now Stihls are probably the Rolls Royce of bushcutters, well at least the Range Rover of bushcutters, so they should be pretty rugged and in theory should start every time – but not this one. I did everything by the manual and even bought their special Stihl petrol/oil mixture, which at £20 a gallon is an extravagance which appalled me.

Even this liquid gold being poured into its tank didn’t do the trick so I piled the Stihl into the jeep and drove down to the shop which is a large garden centre/farm supplies business on the edge of Vence.

I took the machine to the cash desk and said it wasn’t working but was still under guarantee.

Taking it round to the mechanic’s shop as I’d been asked, I was ready for my annual lesson in the worst that France can throw at you in terms of ‘customer service’. The guy is so surly he makes Guy and Kitty look like gregarious angels but onward I marched and stopped at his desk where he was working on another customer’s machine. I didn’t expect him to look up and acknowledge me (he never does) and surprise, surprise, he didn’t, so I stood and waited and waited. After about 5 minutes and becoming increasingly impatient, I interrupted his work. The other customer who obviously knows the mechanic better than I did stood back as if amazed at my impertinence.

‘Yes’ was the reply.

‘My Stihl isn’t starting. It’s only a year old and has never started properly. This is the third time in a year it’s been back here’. And then I added, ‘and I buy that expensive petrol you suggested and it’s still not starting.’

He tried a couple of pulls of the starter string and said I should come back in a couple of days, which I did.

‘It’s water damaged’ he said. Using a mixture of French and English, I informed him that this was complete bollocks as it had been in the garage for the last 4 months and was working when I put it away.

Surprised by my tenacity, or maybe it was the emphasis I applied to the word ‘bollocks’, he said, ‘Oh, ok then – leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do’.

There then followed a bit of a saga with new parts being ordered and him eventually repairing it a few weeks later and then phoning me to pick up the Stihl which I did.

As I was driving past him on my way out of the store car park, he jumped out in front of the car forcing me stop and shouted, ‘you must pay, you must pay’.

I went to the cash desk and explained that my Stihl was under guarantee and I wouldn’t be paying a penny, sorry, cent, whereupon the mechanic grabbed my machine, ran to his workshop and locked the bushcutter in a storeroom.

With an air of Gallic one-upmanship creasing his face, he pointed to the locked room and attempted what I can only say was the sort of rubbish we English spout when we try and get a bit above ourselves with French – ‘your machine is hostage until you pay’.

I just laughed and started to walk away but was thinking as I did so that they were the winners. I might have my pride but they had my Stihl.

The stand off lasted another week and then I returned to the store to find they had apparently contacted the manufacturers and they had agreed that the guarantee should cover the work.

As I triumphantly walked out of the store with my bushcutter, I vowed never again to buy anything from them – until the following week when I had to crawl back and buy a new blade for my Stihl, only available from Gamm Vert !

Life Can Be Grim

We had a very windy night a few days ago and as usual, the next morning I ventured outside to see what damage had been done. I hadn’t heard any crashing of candle glasses on the terrace nor the sun loungers being thrown into the pool nor the sun umbrellas being ripped apart, but the new rear (plastic) window which I had fitted to my Alfa a few days previously had been blown in – obviously I hadn’t fixed it to the hood properly. It’s a very fiddly job and I was not looking forward to doing it again.

I started the Alfa to move it to a cooler spot (we’re still having unseasonably warm weather here) and there was a terrible clanking noise and the battery gave out. My immediate thought was that it sounded a very expensive noise. Could it be that the timing belt had finally given way and perished – if so, it was a 1200 euro repair or worse!

I put the battery on charge and went to lie down, or rather, check my bank balance.

Trying to access my online bank, it appeared that the internet connection was down. Could this be something to do with the new, all embracing package I’d just ordered from Orange (France Telecom)?

Just then the kids came in and as usual they were straight onto the internet, or so they thought.

‘It’s down”, I said. ‘I’ll call them tomorrow’.

After several minutes of moaning and groaning and a realization that even Tom’ll Fix It couldn’t fix it, they headed for the TV, switched it on and there was a clicking sound – no picture, just a clicking sound.

Now, kids can be a real pain sometimes but never more so than when there’s no entertainment in the house.

‘Go for a swim’, I said, but that was met with incredulous stares.

‘Read a book’, I suggested but that was met with even more incredulity.

‘We’ll just watch it in your bedroom’, was the reply and off they trooped to mess up my bed.

The next day I called Orange and spoke to a very nice lady called Florence who worked in Nantes (thankfully not Bangalore !). She ran a few tests and said it was serious. ‘Ah, I see you’ve just ordered one of our new packages’, she said. ‘They’re great value for money’ and then added, ‘when they work’ !  ‘I’ll get an engineer to call’, she said.

I was dreading the return of the ‘kids from hell’ from school so I decided to look at the TV which has had this fault intermittently for the last year or so but no matter that I tried all my previous tricks to get it working, it stayed resolutely blank – it just kept clicking.

No Alfa. No internet. No TV. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? Life was indeed grim.

The third day arrived. I was up at the crack of dawn. Technology wouldn’t beat me.

The first thing was the Alfa. It had now been on charge for two days. I disconnected the charger, put the key into the barrel, turned it and the car sprang into life, sounding just as sweet as she ever did. Result!

Next – the rear window. Now, I’ve taken the window of the Alfa out so often that I could probably do it in my sleep but it’s still an incredibly difficult job but today the screws came out easily, I didn’t cut myself on the metal edge of the window frame and the zip, which can be more difficult to undo than one of those on J’s evening dresses, undid easily.

Into the garage and 30 minutes later and some new extra strong staples bought the day previously which sank through the 4mm PVC like the proverbial hot knife through butter, and the new window looked stronger than ever.

It even went back in like a dream. One job done – two to go.

I called Orange again. Of course, there was no chance I would get Florence but got some guy in Paris called Claude. He did some more tests, confirmed it was serious but gave me the good news that my line had been ‘upgraded’ from a 700k download speed to 15mb. ‘That’s great’, I said, ‘but it’s no use without a connection’. I sensed a Gallic shrug at some nondescript warehouse in Paris. 

He then must have read his script and sympathized but not before I suggested re-installing the router. ‘That’s not the problem’, he countered, ‘it’s this new package you’ve bought – it just doesn’t work.’

I thought of my years in BT and how I would have dreaded a BT call centre operator (sorry, technical service assistant executive……) saying that to a customer. The French were honest if nothing else.

As soon as he got off the line, I reinstalled the router and hey presto, despite his advice, the connection burst into life with a 13mb download speed. Things were indeed looking up. Life was not so grim after all.

Next – the TV. Once again, I tried all the previous remedies – switching it off and on rapidly, switching it on with the remote, and finally, bashing it. Nothing worked. That’ll teach me for buying an ex-display model which had probably been on for eons without a break.

I decided to call the repair shop, despite the new super-duper faster Google telling me that it wasn’t usually economic to repair LCD TVs. No phone line – dead as a dodo! Great internet connection – no phone line – amazing!

Life is indeed grim !