T he Telegraph Pole Appreciation Society has upped a considerable number of sticks and moved Headquarters, camp-followers and office cat to darkest, ruralest middest-Wales. And we chose a really clever time to do this – Christmas and New Year. So extreme apologies if you’ve written to us recently and are awaiting a reply, or your membership certificate seems to have got stuck in the post.
We are though now making in-roads to our administrative backlog and hope to be running on 3 cylinders again soon.
NO THANKS WHATSOEVER TO B.T.
Despite plenty of notice, a couple dozen phone calls and many hours of listening to the BT “on-hold” musak, the earliest they can connect us to the interweb is February. According to them, there is a DACS on the line! Well bloody well take it off then I say. Apparently, a ladder is required. And an engineer to climb said ladder, and also 3 minutes to disconnect the damn thing.
You’d think with all of our telegraph pole virtue extolling what we do, BT would be banging on my door asking what they could do to help us*1
We’ve been very inventive here though and with the aid of my wife’s hairdryer, the pull-string-voicebox from inside a Barbie doll, and a binatone alarm clock radio we’ve rigged up a sort of “heath-robinson” modem – enough to enable me to upload this nonsense at a rip-roaring 47 bps (0.00000047 Mb/s).
Up yours BT!
*1 If you’re a BT Openreach engineer and Llanfair Caereinion is on your patch, there’s a cup of tea and some of my wife’s lemon drizzle in it for you if you can fix us up.