Well this is pretty poor isn't it?

Whilst the Internet changes and evolves ever upwards (does evolution go upwards? Perhaps not; I think it just adapts to survive. Therefore the use of evolution as a metaphor in this case is bunk. But fuck it, I have no thesaurus to hand, it'll have to suffice) Charging Through The Midfield remains standing stock still.

And here I sit at an Internet Cafe in Tottenham Court Road, central London. I have none of my Favourites to click onto; no time to surf aimlessly through mountains of utter shitness in order to find a tiny percentage of worthy links. I find myself being required to delete most of my emails because I have no hard-drive to store my messages and attachments.

I find myself losing the thread my mind is working through due to the conversations of those around me: the endless explanations to those members of the computer illiterate population echo up the isles of this place. As I write I become wary that someone could be reading this over my shoulder and becoming offended.

Fuck 'em.


And why is this all happening?

Because NTL are cunts.

We called them to get a phone line installed (I do find it ironic that in order to get a phone line installed one must use a phone line) and they said it would take them a week simply to get our details onto their computer system. Sorry but what century is this again? Three weeks later and we haven't received any correspondence from them. I'm not optimistic. A colleague of mine used to get cable through NTL. He cancelled his account with them, stopped payment and asked NTL to pick up the box. They didn't bother. Being the honest sort, he phoned them several times more to remind them that he still had their equipment and was still recieving a signal. It took them three years to make it round to his door in West London during which time he enjoyed free television. We're only in our place for a few months so I'm wondering if I'll ever get a phone line in which to surf and write these entries. Anyway, I'm not the honest sort so I comfort myself with the knowledge that we are getting a free NTL service through a chipped cable box... In fact we have two, such is the shitness of their staff in collecting out of contract equipment.

Do I worry about publishing this fact? Well, no frankly. Even if this entry was spotted and reported to NTL in Winchester (for that is where they are I believe - at least the technical gubbins is anyway) it'll probably take them several years to get up off their lazy arses to call their lawyers.

In another sense of course all this laziness from a cable TV company is quite admirable. They are a company collectively acting like a couch potato. Perhaps a few more Internet Service Providers will start doing something similar. When you call up for technical advice, they could start telling you everything you need to know, but about two thirds of the way through might begin to speak really slowly and then totally stop for a couple of minutes before finally finishing.

Or something like that anyway.

I would write a lot more on this subject and convert this mediocre entry into something more fullfilling, however I remind you that I am in central London and need to get back to my abode before the rush hour takes off. And that is the worst thing about leaving my home to surf the net.

I know who I blame: the fucking bastards that they are.

Bah. Had I attended a tarot card reader recently, I would surely have overturned several death cards. I have moved and all has changed. Hence the utter lack of activity here in the past weeks. Please be assured that this blog will return to its usual service as soon as I find a desk on which to place my computer (and we set up a phone line in which to enable Internet gubbins).

Again, bah.

Play Cunt Trumps