Sunday 31 January 2021

Tod asks me ...

... "Is it Sunday?"

I have to think about it.  The days, weeks, months are beginning to merge.  We have friends who used to rely on church on Sunday to put a marker in the week.  Now, not even that.

We had visitors last week, actually in the house, for the first time since heaven knows when. Was it Wednesday they were here?  Or Thursday?

Two Orange technicians came to install our new livebox, connecting us to their new, super-dooper optical fibre network.  They were both young, one overweight and coughing, which did not reassure as it seemed most of the time he wandered round with his mask tucked under his chin.  

They decided they needed to bring the new cable into a different corner of the house, which required climbing onto the roof of a small shelter at the back where we store our lawn mowers.  The young fat one managed to break ten tiles - easy to do as they are old and frail.  At least he confessed and then (I think, because my French gave out at this point) went into a long sob story about how he would have to pay if we made a complaint.  I tentatively climbed the ladder (ours, which he borrowed) and decided life was too short to complain.  His thinner, lighter colleague finished the job.

Having lived through most of December and the first part of January with hardly any internet at all (some local builder seems to have put his digger through a main cable somewhere and then water got into the repair) we would have been grateful for any restoration of our three megabyte (on a good day) service.  It is somewhat startling to discover that we now have well over three hundred megabytes.  We're not quite sure what to do with the all extra, though there is now the joy of occasional one-upmanship when we mention what we have to friends and acquaintances who mournfully say their installation is years away. 

We need to be careful and remember Boris and vaccines - smugness is not an attractive quality.

Mind you, talking of vaccines, we're unlikely to see any our way for the next couple of years (if then).  There are going to be many more days, weeks and months that gently merge into a seamless whole. At least, (hopefully) we will have high speed internet to keep us in touch with some sense of what day it is.

4 comments:

  1. Thank goodness for the internet in these times. Ours has packed up from time to time...landslips, heavy rain and now high winds....but at least we can do the banking on line, pay most of the bills and keep in touch.
    I think bloggers have had a lifeline...we have our little groups, enjoy the virtual company, take interest in someone else's thoughts...
    I know it is Thursday, as we cannot use the car that day...or on Sunday...and on Monday we put out the bins - or in our case the old feed sacks - so there are three focal points to keep the week under control.
    Fibre optic is promised here....should have been here in July, but thanks to you know what...

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    1. Hi Fly, thank you for staying in touch - yes, this way of communicating has become so important. Our fibre is only a year late - so fingers crossed for yours. I'm hoping high winds etc are a thing of the past as the cable is largely underground, but there is always the local guy with a digger! You are still only driving on certain days then? I would struggle with that, not being a good planner! As always, stay safe

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  2. As an old fogey who can't face a lack of 'connection' much of life is so dependant on T'Internet. My daily interaction during lockdown is all EXCEPT for being out with The Dog. I used to know Sunday as the shops were shut but that doesn't work anymore. It's bin day today but I follow the neighbours as to which colour that is to be collected. I had my first jab a couple of weeks ago, my (older) friends in France have heard nothing yet. Take Care. Lesley

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  3. Hello Lesley - great to hear from you. Belated Happy New Year! Hope you and The Dog are staying safe and well. I agree with you about relying on the neighbours' bins to know which ones to put out. Mind you I sometimes only notice after the bin men have been and gone! I envy you your jab - heaven only knows when we will get ours. You too take care.

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