Monday, September 29, 2008

Whose Line Is It Anyway?

We've been in the new house for a week now and today - finally - we have been blessed with a working phone and internet. The idea was that it'd all be ready to go the day after we moved in, but territorial issues between phone companies put paid to that.

My telecommunications provider of choice has to rent lines from Australia's biggie, Telstra. That meant Telstra's chaps had to flick a switch to allow my lot to use it.

Days pass, no line. A long call (on my mobile, because I have no land line ...) revealed the switch had been flicked, but no one had told anyone that they'd flicked it.

Some swearing followed, including several slight variations on the word 'flickers'.

Then my telecom company had to run their line in. More days pass, still no dial tone. Another long call on the mobile revealed yes, there was a fault. Estimated repair time: two to three days ...

In the meantime I've been blagging net minutes from other people, which has really boiled down to reading email (but only replying if urgent) and a very small amount of Facebookery. I'll be getting back to everyone who's been trying to reach me as quickly as possible. Promise.

So what with our TV not getting connected until October 1st, it's been very quiet indeed ... but in the event I've not really had much spare time to fill. Today also marked the final day of a week of cleaning out the old house. Yup, seven days, five hours a day to clean a house, top to bottom. No ordinary clean, this one. If we want to see any of our rental deposit again, the hygeine standards must conform to the directives on the 'Vacation Inspection Guide' kindly provided by our outgoing real estate agent. That means a level of sterility on par with an operating theatre.

For all that, I still expect to get screwed out of at least some of the money. Such is renting.

So all up I've not written anything meaningful in more than a month. Which means I really need to get my finger out. Starting tomorrow.

Until then, four words to scare all those people who were terrified of being swallowed up by black holes created by Hadron Colliders: Tottenham Hotspur Football Club.

If anything sucks hard enough to implode the universe, it's that lot.


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