Iam the sort of aged imbecile who gets expressions of exasperation and pity from the over-sixes at my complete inability to handle all techno gizmos from mobile phones to changing stations on the wireless.
That’s sixes, incidentally, not sixties.
(I still prefer wireless to radio although I’ve given up trying to locate Hilverson or the pop-ridden beams emerging from Luxembourg.)
Which is a pity because I would love to be reminded as to what Donald Peers found by that babbling brook or why Billy Cotton thought we should be woken up on Sundays before we got back from the boozer, gobbled up our meat and two veg and lapsed into a coma.
Anyway, it came to pass last week that the technogremlins assaulted my Broadband, whatever that is, and caused me to rename BT as BritishTossers.
I followed instructions and spent 10 minutes on the phone answering a number of robotic ladies before I finally hit the jackpot and encountered a human being.
He was a very nice and patient man and lived and worked in Calcutta, I believe, and his name was Robin.I hoped to Krishna that Batman would take a hand, but nothing doing.Actually there was nothing doing on all fronts except for a mimsing voice telling me that all this crap could be used for instructional purposes.
So there was a gentleman from the sub-continent trying to get me, a broad Lancastrian, to attend to some questions about the intimate workings of Broadband. It was a lot like the second mate on a Liberian tramp steamer with a rusty Swiss Army knife being advised on radio on how to perform an appendectomy on the chief stoker by a Glaswegian doctor pleasantly drunk in the harbourmaster’s office.
I do believe his instructions would have made more sense to me if he had delivered them in his native Hindustani. Or even Sanskrit. The answer, as always, was to get a man in. Enter Mike Wilcock, himself an ex-BT operative, who diagnosed a fault on the phone line and fixed it within half-an-hour, agreeing with me that BT was a crap organisation.
So, top marks to Mike, and also to Robin. If you are considering taking up BT’s latest offers on Broadband, just ask the robots what happens if anything goes wrong.
Betcha they don’t mention Robin in Calcutta, or whatever they call it now. It’s why BT stands for British Tossers......