Telephony

Well, I have sorted the problem both with the noise on the telephone line and the intermittent intarweb connection. There are micro filters all over the place now and that seems to have done the trick. I merely now await the return of the broadband that I am shelling out the shekels for. At the moment I have arthritic fatband; I define this as faster than dial up, but much slower than broadband. It is going to be a long ten days if that is how long it takes to bed in. My query with Plus Net yielded the additional information that their records show me as having a 10meg connection. I wish. It's never been that good; it fluctuates around 4meg as a rule.

Anyway, it's rather pointless belabouring all that now. Let's wait the ten days and see if it improves.

More directly related to the title of this opus, it is revealed that Furtle has always wanted a bright red telephone. Not any old telephone, but a retro 70s stylee thing. This intelligence has resolved any worries I might have had about a birthday present for next Friday (hint) and the Carpathia will be shortly taking delivery of this marvel of refurbished technology:


Red Lacquer Classic 746 handset

My next task is to get an extension cable so she can parade around the fore deck while chatting to people.

Quite what we are going to do when we need to navigate multiple choice menus, I don't know. Better keep the current phone, too, I guess.

In other news, it will be some time before I get a TV aerial fitted, so we haven't seen the latest Dr Who yest, so I am avoiding spoilers until I can torrent the episode. This endeavour is on hold at this time as Furtle is Warcracking and the two processes are uneasy bedmates even when I have a connection faster than a snail with a club foot.

Later, Kids.

Telephony

Well, I have sorted the problem both with the noise on the telephone line and the intermittent intarweb connection. There are micro filters all over the place now and that seems to have done the trick. I merely now await the return of the broadband that I am shelling out the shekels for. At the moment I have arthritic fatband; I define this as faster than dial up, but much slower than broadband. It is going to be a long ten days if that is how long it takes to bed in. My query with Plus Net yielded the additional information that their records show me as having a 10meg connection. I wish. It's never been that good; it fluctuates around 4meg as a rule.

Anyway, it's rather pointless belabouring all that now. Let's wait the ten days and see if it improves.

More directly related to the title of this opus, it is revealed that Furtle has always wanted a bright red telephone. Not any old telephone, but a retro 70s stylee thing. This intelligence has resolved any worries I might have had about a birthday present for next Friday (hint) and the Carpathia will be shortly taking delivery of this marvel of refurbished technology:


Red Lacquer Classic 746 handset

My next task is to get an extension cable so she can parade around the fore deck while chatting to people.

Quite what we are going to do when we need to navigate multiple choice menus, I don't know. Better keep the current phone, too, I guess.

In other news, it will be some time before I get a TV aerial fitted, so we haven't seen the latest Dr Who yest, so I am avoiding spoilers until I can torrent the episode. This endeavour is on hold at this time as Furtle is Warcracking and the two processes are uneasy bedmates even when I have a connection faster than a snail with a club foot.

Later, Kids.

...and breathe

If putting up pictures on the wall is a reliable indicator of the final stages of moving in, we have moved in.

I doubt that everything has settled into its final resting place, but it is all pretty much there. It has taken a full six days excluding today's efforts and picture hanging and lodging the last few books somewhere seemly. Sadly, having unpacked in six days, there is no rest on the seventh and we are back at work tomorrow. Ho hum. All in all, the experience has reminded me of why I hate moving home and all the disruption and expense it invariably entails. I can say with some confidence that our finances are shot to pieces by this and that over the next few weeks and months we will be looking to reduce debt rather than save money. So that's any thought of a mortgage on the back burner again and just as my finances were starting to breathe again.

It is a recurring pattern, I find, that whenever I manage to get closer to paying things off and can think about building up a deposit or other savings, life happens along completely out of my control, riffles through my bank account and relieves me of the major part of my resources. Still, this time around it has seen fit to wash me up in a nice (if expensive) flat, in a good area of London, with the lovely Furtle. My poverty exists in more genteel circumstances than ever before.

I need now to have a shave and a shower and go to bed, though the latter will have to wait a short while I dry off and cool down.

More later, perhaps, during the cooling down period.

...and breathe

If putting up pictures on the wall is a reliable indicator of the final stages of moving in, we have moved in.

I doubt that everything has settled into its final resting place, but it is all pretty much there. It has taken a full six days excluding today's efforts and picture hanging and lodging the last few books somewhere seemly. Sadly, having unpacked in six days, there is no rest on the seventh and we are back at work tomorrow. Ho hum. All in all, the experience has reminded me of why I hate moving home and all the disruption and expense it invariably entails. I can say with some confidence that our finances are shot to pieces by this and that over the next few weeks and months we will be looking to reduce debt rather than save money. So that's any thought of a mortgage on the back burner again and just as my finances were starting to breathe again.

It is a recurring pattern, I find, that whenever I manage to get closer to paying things off and can think about building up a deposit or other savings, life happens along completely out of my control, riffles through my bank account and relieves me of the major part of my resources. Still, this time around it has seen fit to wash me up in a nice (if expensive) flat, in a good area of London, with the lovely Furtle. My poverty exists in more genteel circumstances than ever before.

I need now to have a shave and a shower and go to bed, though the latter will have to wait a short while I dry off and cool down.

More later, perhaps, during the cooling down period.