Greetings from the long lost Tamara, who now has something resembling a distant cousin of the Internet in her living room, thanks to BT and their 1-meg-on-a-good-day-with-a-following-wind connection. I have given up and given in and no doubt the Wyevale café will a) be glad to see the back of me and b) see a sharp decline in profits. Since they are currently overrun with excited brats having tea with Father Christmas (shouldn’t he be busy supervising all those elves still? Do they know how to pack a sleigh on their own?) and demanding puppies due to the very poorly thought out animatronic display at the main entrance, I suspect they’ll be too busy to notice my absense quite yet.
Yes, you read that right, Wyevale in Bicester has a giant display at the front door with Father Christmas, wrapped presents and happy, smiley, waggy robot puppies, placed perfectly at toddler eye level. Genius. That distant thumping sound is the entire staff of the Dogs Trust bashing their heads into brick walls for a bit of light relief.
Continuing our journey through the world of well thought out plans, why do I not have my super-fast, lovely, shiny, too-good-to-be-true fibre connection? It seems this has been held up, possibly til March, by an unexpected railway bridge. Silly irresponsible Victorians leaving these things lying around where they can sneak up on people.
The more naive of you may think that 150 years of people, dogs, cattle, horses, cars and an ocassional tank not falling onto the railway track might have been a clue as to the bridge’s existence, but what do you know? Do you run a multi-million pound modern communications company? I thought not. You can’t expect clean, modern, city people to actually go outdoors where they have to wear a coat and breathe unfiltered air, and look at the place they’re planning to dig in advance. Outrageous. No, one plans it all ahead in one’s nice clean office then presses Go on a team of peasants who set off with their shovels. “Bridge? What are you talking about Sergei?”