They don't make 'em like this no more

Last Thursday's Vide Grenier yielded fine things: two white china hotel-ware casseroles, 1920's teapot, shoes, jeans, Café de la paix ash-tray and this excellent example of early twentieth century 'aspiration'- an all metal and bakelite hoover.

I had casually picked up a more recent model (1960s) to examine it when the lady 'vendeur' said:
    "Madame (you are obviously the sort of mad person who might consider what I am about to suggest) we have an earlier type of aspirateur here in this valise. "Would you care to - "
"Yes," I replied far too quickly, snapping open the case's locks, and gazing with adoration on chrome and early fake crocodile skin.
    "It is old, Madame,"
    I waited for the usual follow up words that would proclaim old = very expensive, but no! Five euros . . .
    "Does it work?" I asked, nonchalantly.
    "Bien sur, Madame - come, we will find a plug."
    Grasping the hoover she barged into a house on the square and demanded we try the apparatus. The two elderly people engaged in making their lunch stood back and covered their ears, perhaps wary of a possible house-wrecking explosion while their neighbour searched for a suitable socket.
The machine started up as if it had never been in storage and efficiently sucked up crumbs and dog hair much to the amazement of the small crowd that had gathered on the step.
I paid my five euros; we agreed that the deal benefited everyone and I walked back to the car realising the hoover's motor alone probably weighed more than thirty Dyson's.
    When we got it home, I cleaned it and tested out the various shaped tools on our sofa and floor while making a mental comparison to our sulking, yellow, plastic Miele model. It is heavy, yes, but very powerful with two cloth bags you can change over and wash out. The tools are beautifully ergonomic especially the main metal one with a swivelling action that reaches every crumb of dried- out cat food in every corner of the kitchen. It is more of a 'performance' to use this vacuum; a conscious effort: "Let's DO the hoovering," unpacking the ceremonial case, twisting the chrome poles into place - click-click . . .

To read the instruction manual is a trip back into time as well - the first page reading:

'Madame, we wish that your 'Lux' will give you all the satisfaction that you have the right to wait for in your abode: comfort, hygiene and rest, that will allow you to have more leisure time; in one word, a faithful servant, sure and devoted . . . '

   Must go and find the Miele book, if we still have it. I can't imagine the prose being quite so poetic - or sexist!

Hoover bag rant

Or, I should say Miele bag rant as that's the type we possess at the moment.
We inherited a smallish pale yellow aspirator from my mother when she moved to a home and no longer needed to personally remove dust from her surroundings.
It's absolutely fine as hoovers go, except it's almost impossible to find bags for it in a shop, well, actually totally impossible, unless I wanted to drive to Toulouse for a day and mooch around a hundred different electrical sheds in the hope of stumbling upon the right type. Which I don't.
I thought it would be possible to locate the bags in our local mega-supermarket, but no, as the thing is now about eight years old now and probably well out of fashion: I mean yellow, really!
The bag crisis looms every few months or so as we don't go in for huge amounts of dust removal generally - a broom mainly suffices, but as summer approaches and our guest room becomes inhabited, a higher level of dust-attention is needed.
Last time Mark bought some 'fits any size' type bags which were okay apart from a bit of leaking, but even those seem to have disappeared from the supermarket.
Yesterday, I crept towards Amazon knowing it would be the only choice whereupon Mark decided there must be another way - a small local company, somewhere. Nope. But he did find a business called 'Aspirateur sacs sont nous' or something, so I scanned the page(s) in the hope of finding the correct bags.

There were over four hundred types of Miele hoovers listed. Four . . . h u n d r e d. Why?
Why cannot each company make one basic model and upgrade it every few years or so?
Do you really need a hoover called Black Pearl, or Sunshine, or Big Cat and Dog (I liked this one) Passion - (just feel that vibration . . .) Best friend, Blue Moon (singing model?) Champagne! Hey, Honey . . . I've done the hoovering - break out that bottle of Dom. P; Exclusive - what? no one else is going to have one on this planet? Flamenco, Exquisite  (a chunk of wheely plastic, exquisite?) Indian Summer - WHAT?! Meteor - mm, sounds a bit heavy, Jazz, Noblesse - Oh, for God's sake who has the job of naming these things . . .
Anyway, more than four hundred, but not our one.
So, Amazon, and Mark started slipping into the consumer trap - 'Actually, do we need to buy a new bagless type'?
No we do not. I will fabricate our own bags out of old pants if necessary.