Here is a list of reasons by I don’t love my HP Photosmart 7520. It’s still there, just, but the recycling centre is calling. I wouldn’t give it to anyone as I wouldn’t others to suffer the same frustration and expense.
- It drinks expensive ink. How do they justify these prices? They’re insane.
- The empty cartridges take up space in a drawer until they’re sent off to HP for recycling. Is there any discount or compensation for this? Damned if I know.
- The Estimated Link Levels panel on the screen is just a wild guess. If I print out the ink level support it bears no resemblance.
- If you lift the access door to replace a cartridge the chassis pops out from its hiding place then goes in again. If it wants to be really clever it’ll do this several times before it comes to rest.
- Once a cartridge is replaced the access door is closed it considers what just happened and then informs me that while the new cartridge is OK there’s another that’s decided to throw a hissy fit.
- Up goes access door again and the cartridge chassis plays hide and seek again.
- I check each cartridge and they’re all firmly in place. There’s nothing wrong with the bloody things so what’s the alert for?
- Down goes the access door again but it’s still not right. Repeat until one of us gives up.
- It goes to sleep to save energy then, when you need it again, takes an age to come to life.
- When it finally gets going it’ll jam the paper just to show you who’s boss.
- If you try to print labels – ha! There’s always a jam. There’s a gremlin inside that peels of the first label just for the hell of it.
- If you try to print a photo to result looks like something taken using an 1977 Polaroid camera.
- It’s a big black ugly thing. Why are they unimaginative when it comes to colours?
Yes, I do perform the maintenance, the cleaning etc.
There’s no doubt now, I have full blown man flu. My gums and eyeballs ache and I awake at 3am with a mouth as dry as a vulture’s crotch.
I sound like that famous Russian aviator Dimitri Chestikov.
Despite my obvious distress Mrs Christmas is delegating various Countdown to Christmas tasks;
No.17 – troubleshoot and fix inefficient vacuum cleaner.
I suspect her sympathies are wearing thin. I think she’s plotting to leave me outside the tipi for the jackals and the wolves when the snows come in earnest.
I’m banished to the sickbay in the east wing of Lovegrove Towers and there’s a subtext to every question.
“How are you feeling?” translates as “Don’t you dare give it to me. Remember I’m out with the girls tomorrow.”
“Have you taken anything for it lately?” translates as “You’re really beginning to annoy me now.”
I clear the vacuum cleaner hose using a kebab skewer and out falls a glittery fur ball containing a the remains of some plastic snowballs, twine, and several pieces of bark.
I make it back to the sofa before collapsing. Just as I’m reaching for a walnut Mrs Christmas, having spotted something amiss upstairs, calls like an angel from above, “Ben. Can you hear me? OI, DEAFY!”
Send lemons, honey, and more whiskey.