Don’t you just hate it when you cannot access the Internet. BT ‘went down’ in the early hours of Friday, 1st February and still was not back on by bedtime. Jo phoned up but all she could get was an answerphone saying that there were connectivity problems and recommending she phone another number. This she did and that answerphone said the problems were now resolved. To make matters worse this second answerphone then recommended if we were still experiencing difficulties we should visit a certain website for more information. Duh! If I could access the web we wouldn’t be bloody phoning!
So I cannot post to my blogs or check other people’s; I cannot let GB know that I am hale, hearty and bad-tempered; I cannot check what the significance may be of the word Criterion on a pewter mug I own; I cannot let Lainee know that we won’t be at the flea market on Saturday because the weather is just too, too horrible; I cannot check what time the A1 GP is on TV; I cannot transfer money from one bank account to another; I cannot survive! Twenty four hours without access to the Internet is sheer hell. What will happen to me if it carries on tomorrow I dread to think.
... Not only did it carry on through Saturday but right through to Sunday lunchtime. I had not realised how dependent my sanity was on having access to the internet.
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