Ever had something wrong with Uranus?
That, along with all the stars, moons, asteroids and every last alien in the entire universe is badly aligned and ganging up on me. They’re sticking the technological V’s up and mooning me from their moons.
I’ve had no internet access for 17 days, and am perpetually confronted by people who don’t know why. From one pillar to another post, it’s enough to make your blood boil. First it was some upgrade on the line – like I asked for it – then there was some piece of wire not talking to another piece of wire, and all the while the onus is on me – the customer, of course – to keep ringing them for an update. It’s not their job to ring me of course, oh no. I must pay to arrange for them to fix a problem that is entirely theirs – it’s logic to die for.
Meanwhile time passes idly by and I’m none the wiser. For all I know David Dein could have been ousted from the club, or something equally cataclysmic might have occurred. The wireless did inform me that we beat Fulham 3-1, but other than that I’ve not been so free of Arsenal gossip since the internet was born.
I won’t reveal who my ISP as I’m in their thrall and am as we speak grovelling at their profit-infested toes begging for their mercy, but I will say that of all the fruit in the world, the humble orange is the one I am currently least enjoying.
So that’s really it. It’s not my fault, honest.