An eco consolation prize, or, The conclusion of the washing machine episode

I'm trying not to get depressed about the fact that my washing machine is fixed, I really am. But it's such a very very very rubbish machine. It's so old that the instructions book has a reassurance for people more used to manual machines, assuring them that an automatic machine can wash as well. If this was Ebay I'd be listing it in the Vintage category.

Anyway, the machine broke last week, and (one of the perks of renting, as I may have mentioned) we phoned the landlady and requested that she fix or replace it, which she merrily did (our landlady is very jolly. We like her). We were confident of a new, better machine, as this one has been producing clothes that smell neutral at best, and something actively unpleasant, for some weeks. The washing machine repair man came out, and instead of the sharp intake of breath (you know, that reverse whistle thing that tradesmen do when something expensive is about to happen) and pronouncement of death I was expecting, he cheerfully told me he'd have it fixed in a jiffy. And he did. The bastard.

In its defence, the machine is now producing clothes that smell something approaching clean, but I wanted a shiny new machine, dammit!

Repeat after me: "repair is better than replace, repair is better than replace."