The Broadband Revolution

I have often complained that if my interweb connection was any slower, it would be going backwards. It is with great sadness I concede that I am no longer able to do so. Broadband has finally entered my life and it is marvellous.

It was a few days before Christmas that the news was announced. After months nay, years of broken promises and blithe assurances that they would definitely get it done just as soon as the engineers re-emerged from the pub, Eircom have come good and performed the 10 minute task on my local exchange.
For reasons I don’t understand and am not asking for an explanation about, it is necessary to be within a certain distance of said telephone exchange. This led to many worried looks between myself and He Who Knows Everything. We were almost certainly right on the edge of the acceptable distance. Were we to be thwarted once more? Would I have to take matters into my own hands, crank up the JCB and remove the picturesque hill which stands between my house and a DSL connection?
Happily, we turned out to be within the required distance. BT managed to send us a modem as promptly as could be expected with Christmas in the way and it all worked after only one call to the nice Customer Service man in Nicaragua (You must unplug all telephones not routed through the special beige noise deleter thingies, apparently).

I am currently listening to BBC Radio 3 and feeling most grown up as a result. Donald Macleod and Bruce Wood are considering how Purcell responded to two very different reigns: the Catholic James II and the Protestant William and Mary of Orange. I quite like Purcell. The only times you ever hear Purcell on Dorsexburyshire FM is when they’ve run out of Mexican music or the when third violinist is from Sligo.
Earlier on, I was listening to Ray D’arcy on Today FM which, admittedly, I can do anyway but now I can do it without going all the way upstairs to get the Radio and spending 10 minutes adjusting the tuning. If I cared to attend my desk first thing in the morning, I could listen to Terry Wogan on BBC Radio 2. I can probably listen to him at a time of my choosing with the BBC iplayer.

Broadband also means I can now spend the rest of eternity watching videos of laughing babies on Youtube. Previously if I had wanted to see such a sight, I would have had to drive to my hairdresser’s house and hit him with a tea towel in front of his son. This way is so much easier.
Looking at things I don’t want on Amazon now takes a fraction of the time that it used to. The Journalists’ Friend can stream fraudulent information into my brain at a near constant rate. People can ring me up at any time of the night or day and actually get through. There is no end to the possibilities.

In other news: Cos is slowly driving my brain into a state of near collapse. During every hour of the day and night she intermittently emits a highly pitched sighing noise. The frequency of the noises is directly proportionate to my levels of enjoyment and relaxation.
Imagine for a moment, if you will, trying to watch a tense and emotive television drama which is continually punctuated by small squeaky noises in your right ear.
“We have only four seconds to detonate the bomb or everybody in London will be killed!” *squeak*
“‘Alright Constable,’ she said, ‘but please be gentle.’” *squeak*

I have never been more thankful to not to be watching The Exorcist.

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