Lousy broadband is wrecking everything–even my veg stew
TO GET the topic for this week’s column approved, I had to walk two miles in thick, freezing fog, climb up a slippery hillock, and hold one arm aloft to get a signal. To file this column, I had to pack up my laptop and dogs (never easy), and drive to the nearest town (Catterick, North Yorkshire), where I was forced to purchase a frankly awful cup of coffee (in McDonald’s! I will be excommunicated by Peta!) in order to use the free internet, with its password of xy55-67bbnm-dd360d*&£%M (why don’t hotels and cafes change their passwords to Bob, or – I know! – the name of their establishment!).
Even when my wi-fi is working up here in the frozen north of the Yorkshire Dales, it can take three days to download a film from iTunes. Even now, I still have no idea whether Blake Lively was eaten by the shark in The Shallows – the 48-hour rental period expired before I got to the end, and this after buying the film three times as the internet kept failing.
My job often involves downloading 30 or so high-res photographs so I can write captions (I’m very good at captions). This can take 18 hours, so thank the Lord I am no longer working for a daily paper.
I literally will the photos on to my screen, verbally encourag- ing them as though they are old nags in the Grand National: ‘Come oooonnnnn!!!!! Get on!’
Never mind investing in faster old technology (trains), the Government should be investing in faster new technology. I’m sure Vince Cable (there’s a misnomer if ever there was one) promised us faster internet and better mobile coverage to compensate for the fact our properties have dropped 30 per cent in value – and our newish Conservative MP, Rishi Whatshisname (I’m sorry, I have no access to Google), promised to do so at every hustings he spoke on. That is exactly why I voted for him. Yet I was still unable to catch up with EastEnders last night.
I have complained to BT, my broadband provider, numerous times. I booked an engineer and a day off to take delivery of my new equipment when I moved in just before Christmas, as the hub the landlord left behind didn’t work.
WHEN the engineer failed to turn up, I called BT (with great difficulty: I can’t use my landline as I’m deaf; I can only hear my mobile because I can turn it to full volume). ‘What happened to him? I hope one of his close relatives died.’
‘We fixed the problem at the exchange.’
‘But you didn’t fix it! And why not let me know! You never even brought the new equipment! I’m not a 1950s housewife!’
‘We will post the hub to you via Royal Mail. But you won’t get it for two days.’
Last week, the internet failed yet again (I get a flashing orange light on my hub: it’s like a tiny police car in the corner of my office, which makes me even more nervous than I am already). I booked an engineer for three days’ time. He never showed up.
I called BT when in town (my phone only works with wi-fi calls, as there is – have I mentioned it? – no mobile service in my home). ‘We sent you a text,’ the woman said. ‘BUT I’VE GOT NO SERVICE!!!!’
Having no decent technology doesn’t just affect me and my missives. Numerous local shops don’t take card payments as they cannot connect to the bank. This means in hairdressers, greengrocers and delis, you are always scrabbling for coins, finding you don’t have enough, and leaving two carrots, a swede and a cabbage on the counter as hostages while you hightail it to the nearest cashpoint, which also isn’t working (my stew was very plain that night).