On Hold

You might be wondering why, after all this time, my bloggin' and brannin' are still unsynchronised. We've had a lot of trouble getting the internet set up at home, and I'm starting to suspect that it's because whenever you call our ISP there's a random 30% chance that you get redirected to the home phone of a disgruntled former employee.

Today's conversation included talk about accoutn numbers, working-day countdowns to the arrival of welcome packs, monthly fees, email addresses... all the kind of thing you'd expect a conversation with an ISP to have.
When I called them yesterday, I got a guy asking if I wanted my internet to have one megagig or two, then concluding the conversation by saying "Yep, that's all cool" and then falling totally silent. Maybe he was concentrating hard because he was trying that thing where you roll a joint with the seam on the outside, I don't know. After a while I hung up with the vague impression that things were cool.

This morning's call, incidentally, led me to hear Jack Johnson over the telephone in one ear and Michael Jackson from upsatirs in the other. I'm still feeling a little nauseous. Still, I think the phase in my life where I have the hotline number memorised may be coming to a close. I tell you, it's not a moment too soon.