Hiatus

I've been having a few "issues" with our broadband. Involving a number of really quite heated conversations with BT, three attempts for them to come out and fix it and eventually, a result this morning when it turned out that somehow damp had got into our phone socket and corroded the connecters. We are now the proud owners of a brand new socket. Woohoo.

This means I've been unable to blog about so many things - being forced to go and see "extreme metal" act Cradle of Filth to write a review (they were really, really tame, no blood or urine or goat sacrifices or anything), huge, huge party on Saturday night to which I went dressed as a farmer (no joke, that was the theme), various wanderings around town so that my mate could film me and E talking about how wonderful Oxford is and why people should come and visit the Cowley Road (I really, hate being on camera).

I'm off work today and tomorrow as the big weekend continues and am planning to partake in that very Oxfordy set of traditions associated with May morning. That is, I'm going to stay up all night drinking, attempt, again, to find this massive party which apparently happens in Port Meadow and go down to Magdalen Bridge to hear the choristers. Although I will have the added complication that my parents are also keen to hear the choristers so will be sleeping here. Really not keen on them seeing me after all night on the razz, so think we may divert to E's house instead.

More on that story later.

Pointless arguments

I had a quietly heated argument with HF about broadband while at work today, quiet because I was within metres of all my colleagues and my superiors, heated mostly because I really needed not to be having that conversation then.

Anyway, I'm on late shifts this week. This morning, I couldn't get the broadband to work. This was somewhat annoying, but after a couple of failed reboots, I figured I'd just leave it to fume to itself and then decide to work a bit later.

Apparently, this had not happened by the time HF came home and he rang me very angry about it, saying that the connection was all f*cked and I had locked his tools in the shed so he couldn't get them (really glad about that in retrospect, he might have blown himself and the house up) and we would have to get an engineer and I would need to sort it all in the morning.

The broadband and phone are both in his name so I pointed out this was unlikely to work. He got angry and hung up on me.

He's at a gig now. I got home at approximately 10pm and the broadband, as you can tell from the fact I am posting, is now working perfectly. Maybe he did as I suggested and called BT. Or maybe it wasn't f*cked at all, just having a minor tummy complaint.

Men really need to learn patience - and how to live without an internet connection for an evening (okay, I suspect that may sound slightly hypocritical coming from me).

In other news, the AA man changed my tyre (existing tyre absolutely shot to pieces, not sure how that wasn't picked up at my MOT last month) and I spent half an hour on the phone to 02 sorting out moving onto pay monthly. Except at the very last minute I failed the credit check.

So I'm too much of a risk for a contract phone? Life sucks. Think I will go and join in with some post-gig revelling.

More on that story later.

If you lie it will make your nose grow

So, hypothetically speaking. If you were a 12-year-old girl and you had told your parents a little white lie to cover up for something you shouldn't have been doing, at what point would you fess up?

At the point where you're fibbing to the doctors? When your parents decided to complain to the council about the accident they caused? When they contact the local newspaper because they are so concerned about this hazard you have uncovered? When the newspaper photographer comes to take a picture of your injuries "at the scene of the crime"? When you actually come on the phone and talk to a reporter about how much it hurt and how dangerous you think it is?

Or would you instead wait until your brother hears the truth through the grapevine, then admit you were telling porkies all along? An hour before the paper goes to print.

Grrrr.

I hate liars. And, at the moment, 12-year-old girls.

Anyway, I have the broadband. Despite initial concerns from HF, ever the pessimist, it all seems to be going well - that said someone may have stolen all our bandwidth in a cunning wireless fashion, and also robbed our identities and committed crimes in our name. Well, probably not all of the above. So I am going to endeavour to BE A BETTER BLOGGER - starting with some catch-up, and maybe even some commenting.

In the meantime, I had an absolutely ridiculous weekend involving some kind of surreal party/club night in an old bingo hall which included bicycle jousting. Then I was supposed to go to a Travis gig and write a review but tickets didn't turn up so I ended up going to see John Cale play. I do not recommend that you do the same. As a result of the above, I seem to be developing a shocker of a sore throat.

More on that story later.