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Three years ago, I purchased a Belling Kensington cooker for around £1,000. It's a lovely beast of a thing, with four ovens and seven hobs and a small Elf called Brian who prints money. Okay, the last bit is a lie, but the rest is true. I love it so much that I have a man who comes in every month to clean it.
The other day he pointed out to me the doors, which have a 'satin steel finish' were starting to tarnish. What could I do? I rang Belling, of course.
They weren't happy when I explained that my shiny beast was growing a rash on its underdoor portions. In fact, they were so put out that they sent me, gratis and without any hinderance, a full set of brand new fascias for all four doors and the twistling bank (that's the official name for the bit of metal behind all the knobs - okay, it's not, but Brian the Elf told me it was called that). Not only that, but they sent along Roger the fitter to fit them for me. He also re-inked Brian's money press.
Total cost to me: one phone call and one cup of coffee for Roger.
Top work, Belling blokes!
I do subsequently recommend unreservedly their fine "put heat into food" machines.
The other day he pointed out to me the doors, which have a 'satin steel finish' were starting to tarnish. What could I do? I rang Belling, of course.
They weren't happy when I explained that my shiny beast was growing a rash on its underdoor portions. In fact, they were so put out that they sent me, gratis and without any hinderance, a full set of brand new fascias for all four doors and the twistling bank (that's the official name for the bit of metal behind all the knobs - okay, it's not, but Brian the Elf told me it was called that). Not only that, but they sent along Roger the fitter to fit them for me. He also re-inked Brian's money press.
Total cost to me: one phone call and one cup of coffee for Roger.
Top work, Belling blokes!
I do subsequently recommend unreservedly their fine "put heat into food" machines.
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