As you probably noticed, something went pop and this blog went all quiet and I have broken my daily post thing into a hundred tiny pieces. The elves inside the magic box got drunk or something, so we couldn’t connect to the internet.
The company which makes our internet isn’t very good, and in a bid to pour metaphorical milk all over this crunchy credit seems to have replaced the elves in a room full of telephones with lift music. So I tore my butler away from the box of vegetable-mashing tools, where he was working himself into a bit of sweat, and got him to telephone another company.
The company was nice and promised to get everything set up by this time next week. Good news, although I will be in Edinburgh this time next week so unable to get my mitts on the shiny new internet until Saturday.
Never mind. I girded my loins and set about living the life of a man with no internet access. The Flintstones managed it, so why might I not have a go too? I started to enjoy it. Once, I found myself in the garden, ripping up pieces of wood, dancing to some mildly arsey music. It was creamy. I have been starting to get into this remarkable lifestyle. Then something happened this morning.
Never let it be said that I treat my butler nastily. Sometimes, when he isn’t busy covering his crispy skin with unsalted butter, he uses the computer. He was doing so this morning when he bounced downstairs. The internet, he told me was working. I was excited and I looked forward to the evening when I would be reuinited with everything.
I found myself doing some exciting things in the afternoon. I went to Norwich. I bought a pen. I bought some trousers. I bought another pair of trousers. I bought a shirt. I bought something which, rather amusingly in my opinion, we call a hooded sweatshirt.
Something interesting to note about the Primark establishment. The blokes’ changing rooms – or the mens fitting rooms, as they rather garrulously describe them – are not very good. We waited several millennia for the queue to diminish before our eyes, and the reason turned out to be that there is only one fitting room for penis owners. There are many “womens fitting rooms”, on the other hand. What an incredibly shocking thing.
Once in the room for fitting, I noticed another possible reason for the wait. There are two mirrors facing one another, meaning that one sees an enormous army of identical clones of oneself. It is a marvellous or scary sight depending on your Twitter followers:following ratio. I found myself compelled to do a bit of a salute, although it didn’t really work because my arm got in the way of the salutes being done by my clones.
Then I noticed that the curtain, the single barrier between the eyes of the retailer worker woman who may be pregnant or just a bit fat, was in a bad way, as though Tarzan himself had confused the polyester sheet for a Liana. Perhaps my slightly disturbing salute had not gone as unwitnessed as I had hoped.
Not sure why different genders of person need have different fitting rooms anyway. It’s not like you’re with other people in the same room.
Trousers OK. The last ones I bought from this nefarious shop have flies that seem to keep coming undone. Hopefully this major problem has been sorted out.
I found my camera in the car. Thought I had lost it. A bit of a relief, and it – like the working broadband connection – represented a major leap. I had been getting furious with modern technological gizmos, and then all of a sudden they were on my side again.
Once home, I rushed upwards to press a button on the magical computer device. There was no joy. The internet was not working.
And yet, it had been working for my butler! Discrimination far worse than that of Primark. How dare Bill Gates be kind to my potato slave, and yet disallow me access to the interglobular cobweb? I was so angry that I actually threw a cork at the portrait which graces my wall, printed on the finest Tesco Value paper, no expense spared.
Then, after a lot of furious keyboard-poking, it sprang into life with a click and a whirr. It works, although I have to keep redialling and redialling at first.
I am quite thirsty, as recent typos suggest. I have no nearby cup, but as I have mentioned I bought a pen today. A shockingly expensive Pilot V5 thing, which many people have recommended. I’ve got over 100 Google Reader things to work my way through and do not want to waste time by going to the tap, so I might suck some ink out of the pen instead. Will let you know how it goes. Laters.