How dare our illegal internet firestick not work. I changed broadband provider only a week ago, for the better, apparently, to speed things up and to cut the cost of electronic activities but for some reason the bloody thing won’t work, I’m trying to stick to the rules whilst outside the rules and yet tech continues to confound me, irritate me and surround me with an impending sense of doom; christ remember when WordPress started using blocks. I’m still trying to navigate that. I think I’ve reached the pinnacle of where I’m probably meany to get to with tech. I’ve worked out what I can do and what I need to do to stay in the corner of the internet I want to be, I do not have a blue tick, but I know I’m real and so I don’t need a blue tick. But all this talk of VPN and servers gives me a headache usually remedied with a glass of something and then soon forgotten about until later; the list gets ever longer, a lengthy line of similar connected house issues, a nightmare of succession DIY and phone calls with answer machines and call centres.
“My internet won’t stream”
“Why, and what are you trying to watch?”
“Oh I don’t know” slams phone down..
That’s my life, “sorting things out” My friend once wanted to start a company called sortmyshitout.com but he couldn’t find the staff who could be arsed to do it, i suspect the call centre would be full of surly irritated middle aged men like myself, just living for the evenings when they could drown their sorrows with top gear re-runs and cheap lager. (Neither of which I do incidentally)
On a positive note my son’s team played their last competitive rugby game of the season, it was his first season and started badly, with the ten losing a lot of the early games but due to excellent coaching (I think), a growing knowledge of the rules and an appreciation of the etiquette which rugby is characteristically played, they finished with 6 wins for the last 6 games of the season! Beat that, and take note Leicester City, the black dog of relegation sits on the passenger seat. But they won, the sun was out and the pitch was flat and well tended to, sadly an opposition chap was badly injured, potantial broklen neck and far off on the other side of the pitch spent a good hour underneath a silver survival blanket not daring to move. The ambulance came, after about an hour, unable to get into the ground due to height restrictions, and as awe were leaving we saw the paramedics start off across the car park with a stretcher to rescue the poor bloke. Turns out he was ok, after an x-ray and CT scan, a lucky escape, after an unlucky clash in mid air, but hopefully a story to tell. Thank God he was ok.
After the game we held an end of season presentation and prize giving, everyone got a trophy, because they have come along in leaps and bounds and my son got a mention as being “pound of pound” the player who gives the most and tries the hardest, and as a result received a player of the season trophy! In his first one. My Dad, his Grandpa, sadly dead, would have been so proud; he had trials for England and sadly missed out on knowing my son was trying out Rugby. So for the time being we, the count and countess of Clifton will be changing my sons bedclothes as we sanctify his pit despite being asked to change them himself for a couple of weeks now. I’dlike to see him dodge the next bed dressing!