busker

WiFi-less in Chelsea

Fie! Why?

After a week of intermittent poaching of unsecured wireless links, I suddenly cannot see anything in my laptop's scanning of the area, not even the list of 4 or 5 protected links.

I must have hit a wrong button or raised some sort of firewall that now blocks me from receiving the signals.

Damn'd nuisiance because i'm left with trogging dahn the Kings Road to this sort of Mall that houses a post office, Virgin megastore and Subs-cum-Internet café.

It costs £1.00 for an hour at easyInternetCafé, which isn't bad except that it boasts a somewhat dour customer service rep who clearly caught us both on a bad day - see 'Comments'.

I go on - or *went* on, since I'm typing this section at the tail end of March 2008 - to say that "when he's here he sits in his back office prodding away at his keyboard and not even looking round when one has an enquiry ... and a whole lot of other silly comments that I feel a bit bad about now I'm getting to know the chap thru his Comments. So I'll delete the next childish paragraphs or three and cut straight to the bit where I get civil again and talk about having

" ... a raft of mails to post, waiting on my laptop for a spare wi-fi link to swim into my ken; also bags of cool fotos of my travels around town.

TV: they have 'Desperate Housewives' here which is discussed in all seriousness by a Brains Trust of smart young things who I suspect have been no closer to the great US of A than the nearest KFC. In fact, one of the more risible aspects of TV over here is the eagerness with which the Briterati pontificate on what's going on 'over there'.

More anon when I've *finally* extracted my mum's phone account # from the wretched bank and got BT to wire me up."

Also delete a whole lot of "Post-scripts" crap about being in a "mood"; also delete silly Post-post scripts about former CS buddies ... and definitely remove the ramblings about my zipping back and forth to London at a pace allowing me to look in on the Internet caff, pose as customer in need of help blah blah ... record it for YouTube et al ... all total silliness and, except that I had no booze around, I'd've assumed I was blotto when I penned that.

I might actually have been politer if I *had* been on the sauce, yeah?

Ref guarding camera from lite-fingered Subs staff: I don't believe I ever ate there. I'd walk the 12 minutes from the flat, mail whatever i had for the girls and then sidle over to the NetCaff.

I've worked in too many of those instant fooderies to feel comfortable gnawing into their product. I can believe that's what they themselves call their 'product' - eeuuww. And the pong pervades the Net stations.