Bad weather causing problems with our phone-line out in the sticks left us bereft of the t'internet and phone for a week.
When I first realised the 'Information Super-highway' had taken a detour around my house I was just a bit on the irked side. No big deal. The money-grubbers at, rhymes with Smellyshom informed me that if an engineer came around and it turned out to be my fault or my equipment then it's a straight up 95quid fee. So best option was to see if things improved with the bad weather fucking off for a bit.
That's when I learned some new things about myself, I am totally reliant on the Internet. First proper morning with no internet I get up at my usually stupid o'clock time of around 5am. Make a brew and a bacon butty and sit down at the 'puter, remembering as I do a clickity-click on Firefox that nothing will happen, the magical portal has been closed, stranding me in 1987, which was shit the first time around and without Terrahawks on the telly.
I sat there staring at the Error Screen likely resembling an irate motorist whose car wouldn't start and was late for work. So first kick in the balls there, no news sites to read no greatgeekmanual updates to check on, no off-colour guffaws at Sickipedia to be had.
So you'd think I'd grab the time to get some more writing done. It seemed like I only had half a computer after a few mere minutes as I'm clearly not the cleverest of cats, I've been dumbed down by calculators and the ease of knowledge on the internet. No wikipedia, no Wiki Answers, Professor 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 01111001 01101111 01110101 1100101 isn't available for a one on one session. I look around the house, not realising somewhere along the way that we phased out Tree Versions of encyclopaedias. The nearest thing I've got to a book of knowledge is either The Bumper Book of Monsters, or Roger's Profanisaurus. I quit and go to work.
Get home. Computer on, remember just in time not to click the knackered portal and forgo getting my chuckles at Cracked.Com or catching an episode of Celebrity Juice on ITV Player.
I found myself sat on the sofa being forced to watch Eastenders and Coronation Street. I didn't get a choice, I was the refugee to the lounge, I'd entired the missus' domain and her word was law. The only good thing to come out with that is a new phrase to annoy her with when asked to do something. "I am so Tyrone'd!"
The silliest came yesterday. Not sure of the Sunday bus times, but reckon they are about every half-hour, but no idea which bit of the half hour. So like a goon I sat by the front window Bus Watching for one to go past. Was that a future echo of my old age, sat like so many others waiting for God, slumped in a chair by the window so I can watch cars and buses go by.
Internet came back last night, it brought with it both my soul and my sanity.