you got wires, going in
Monday, 31 May 2010 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtRight, it's official: the Imaginet guys clearly have a stash of naughty photos of Telkom technicians in compromising positions, and aren't afraid to use them. I logged a call with Imaginet on Saturday morning, to complain that the ADSL has tended to fall over randomly at intervals since all the new internal phone wiring. I was phoned on Sunday morning by the Telkom people, asking if they could send a technician around there and then. He arrived within 20 minutes. He fossicked around a bit, worked out that the cabling was OK but there was weirdness on the line, beetled off saying he'd ask them to reset the technical whatevers, phoned back twenty minutes later to check if the modem had reconnected, discovered it hadn't, came back in his little van, worked out what was wrong and forced the etheric wossnames to reconnect by the simple expedient of unplugging the spanky new phone extension, which is apparently interfering with the ADSL and needs a splitter. I shall procure one this afternoon. If this actually sorts out the problem, I suspect I may be contractually obliged by my life membership of the Telkom Infernal Suckage Club to pass out, stage left, in sheer surprise.
In fact, I may have already done so. This bloody sinus thing won't leave me alone, and I spent two hours of Sunday afternoon passed out on my bed in a state of ineffable physical lowness, thereby missing a ladies' tea at the Mount Nelson, for which I apologise. Wretched Sid. Wretched headache. Wretched need to actually drag myself to work today, owing to two days in workshops last week and a concomitant piling up of Emergencies. I have cleared most of these, however, and if I wake up tomorrow feeling like I do now, I shall simply stay in bed.
On the upside, last night I dreamed I met Neil Gaiman at a weird signing in a giant underground Roman amphitheatre, and got press-ganged into following him around as an assistant. Assisting Neil Gaiman seems to be a recurring motif in my dreams. Clearly the fangirly bit of my subconscious has a deep need to feel useful.
In fact, I may have already done so. This bloody sinus thing won't leave me alone, and I spent two hours of Sunday afternoon passed out on my bed in a state of ineffable physical lowness, thereby missing a ladies' tea at the Mount Nelson, for which I apologise. Wretched Sid. Wretched headache. Wretched need to actually drag myself to work today, owing to two days in workshops last week and a concomitant piling up of Emergencies. I have cleared most of these, however, and if I wake up tomorrow feeling like I do now, I shall simply stay in bed.
On the upside, last night I dreamed I met Neil Gaiman at a weird signing in a giant underground Roman amphitheatre, and got press-ganged into following him around as an assistant. Assisting Neil Gaiman seems to be a recurring motif in my dreams. Clearly the fangirly bit of my subconscious has a deep need to feel useful.
