Hanging on the Tele-Phone, but not anything like Blondie did.

Today has been an exercise in trying to wrest back control over the telephone overlords, the boiler despots and the television fascists. As I sit here exhausted after a tedious day long ordeal of trying to overhaul the various multinationals who have some sort of financial control over me, us.

Sky TV was first, a jovial Scot called Dave who asked and probed as to what I wanted to cancel my subscription to the shite channels I was receiving, when really as we all know its none of his business and it is the type of question I don’t think i’d ever ask a friend, “So M, why are you cancelling your Sky subscription?” See it just doesn’t make sense and I for one would have little to lose sleep over if M told me to mind my own business too. The reception in my house is sketchy (not the reception when you arrive, that is warm and welcoming, but the mobile reception just isn’t, it just doesn’t and I don’t think it ever will. So I had to stand out side, and for the second day in a row N arrived to complete the floor with me in a foul mood on the phone, desperately trying to hold onto the signal by not moving and talking really loudly with my hand held up to anyone who dares approach me. You’d understand if you’d spent 30m minutes going from pillar to post on the automated phone answering system, no wonder so many people give up and keep sending the money to Murdoch. The sun was out but I was in a T-shirt and hoping to end the conversation pronto, but due to the legalities of reading out disclaimers my nipples were like bullets by the time I said Goodbye to Dave, I think he felt sorry for me and released the metaphorical telephone cord from around my neck when I told him my nuts were freezing off, and if they did drop off then he would be implicated for Crimes against Womankind. Job Done.

So a quick cup of tea and then I went upstairs to speak to Naomi at BT and then Louise for a total of 52 minutes and 42 seconds while I sorted out the weak broadband signal we have in the house, the WiFi doesn’t reach upstairs and so now we have to upgrade to something with a Halo called all house WiFi, as if when you get wifi its not a prerequisite to have it available for the whole house. Like having a quiet zone where we can meditate or get away from it all with a gong bath. Fuck that, we all want the wifi, to do games, to do twitter, FB, TikTok, whatever they all get up to, I can’t, at the moment, do my blog in bed, which I used to quite enjoy. Lousise was very good but over thorough and spoke to me very slowly, just making absolutely sure I had understood everything and so by the time the call was concluding she couldn’t let go, wishing me well and begging me for my phone number; which I actually pointed out she had as she worked for the phone company. I ended up getting downstairs, from a relatively relaxing phone call from the bed it must be said, just in time for me to help N with the porch door, christ it was heavy after phone shoulder cramp endured over the last 2 hours activity. 

Popped out to the post office where camp Nick, the post master, worked to send a small package, and then swung by our mates new manor, he was moving into this evening, but he wasn’t there, so I stopped off on my way home in the usual 4g car park with superb reception where I organised the shed man, Brian, to come and install our new shed, which should be happening next week I guess, that’s going to be very exciting. 

The rest of the telephonory pokery was undertaken via the medium of text message to the plumber, the driving instructor, the carpenter and the tiler, and after an hour and a half of solid Tippetty tapping with my sausage fingers, my glasses falling down my nose like Hinge or Brackets (I can’t remember which) I was utterly exhausted, eyes, mouth and brain. And so any conversation beyond what we were having for tea and when I’m off to the tip tomorrow was short lived.

Thats how I’m living play mates.

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