MAN: Hello? Yes, you, my man
ASSISTANT: Ah, morning, Sir
M: I don't see what's so good about it.
A: I didn't actually specify, but go on.
M: It's this toaster.
A: I see. Do I take it there's a problem?
M: What's wrong with it? "What's wrong with it?", he says.
A: Actually, I didn't, but do continue.
M: I shall. I'll continue to the bitter, blighted end. I'll tell you what's bottoming wrong with it: it doesn't make toast!
A: Did you say "bottoming"?
M: Does my vernacular offend you? Well, it's time the time for straight talking, my laddio.
A: Quite so. Well, I'd be happy to exchange the device for you, Sir.
M: Uh-uh! We've been through that malarkey. Oh, yes, we've waltzed down that daffodil alley many a merry time.
A: I see. Well, we'd be happy to reimburse you fully, of course, but just for our satisfaction, do you mind if I test it?
M: Be my guest. But you won't like it. You'll be an unhappy guest, who's disappointed with the mattress and let down by the bottoming breakfast.
A: All the same, Sir. [Turns on toaster]. Well, the element appears to be working, let's just - ooh, yes, it's getting pretty hot. Was the calibration off, Sir?
M: Don't give me calibration; don't fob me off with calibration like a sing-song on a ski slope. It's getting hot alright, but it's not making toast, is it? And that's the very essence of the appliance.
A: Well...there's no bread in it.
M: You need to put bread in it?! Forgive me if I'm wrong, but doesn't it make the claims of this toast-creation device rather less impressive if I have to supply the raw material myself? You're telling me this machine just heats up bread?
A: That's a rough definition of toast, Sir.
M: But I can do that on the grill!
A: True.
M: So why do I need this little cuboid cock cluttering up my kitchen? It's a complete waste of bottoming space!
A: I see, Sir. I fear, however, that the fault can't be laid at the feet of this particular retail outlet. Perhaps you'd like to pass your concerns direct to Morphy Richards themselves?
M: I tried! I tried to phone that Richards cove myself, to give him steamy piece of my mind.
A: Am I to assume from your rubicund visage that they didn't see things your way, Sir? What a pity.
M: Don't know, do I? The bottoming phone was on the blink.
A: Ah. [Beat] You do know you have to talk into it, don't you?
M: What? Do I have to do everything myself? This country's a farce. Taxi! [Looks around the shop for moment, then storms out].
