Frustrated is a big word and brought to you today by Pipex Broadband, or should I say Pipex, yes thats PIPEX intermittent narrow/broadband. How hard can it be for a telecom service such as BT to bring to your door the power of communication? and the provider to be capable of managing the process. They manage to accept payment every month, accepting responsibility might be the flip side of the coin.

Poor sofaman has been on the case, very angry yesterday, some poor operative took the full force of a man well trained in the art of destructive debate, as a Roman in the Forum Sofaman took on Pipex operative No435 who sank under the weight if vitriol, crushed, wounded and bloody they babbled willingly, yet again, and became compliant.

This will likely bring only another storm of incredulity, a raging torrent of anger and frustration. Operative No435 will slink off, delete the carelessly tossed together record and leave no trace of the event. Such is the might of apathy.

I sat outside today in the sunshine, under the green awning of Starbucks, in the safety of its canvas arch. When the rain began to fall I felt smug, dry and happy. People scattering and running, me lounging for once the onlooker comfortable and amused instead of as on Friday wet to the bone.

As the rain stopped shoppers emerged from the safety of Specsavers, one man came and stood over me.” Do you paint’ he asked, my Windsor and Newton paint tin open and splattered in Crimson and Indigo, paint brush in hand. ”How did you guess?”, ‘I saw you painting’ he charmed, well spotted. ‘Do you write?’, I thought ‘Yes’ had to be the answer, he had spotted me doing that as well. “Professional?”, was the inquisition ever to end?, I fulfilled he desires ‘ Yes’, why not?… he looked pleased to have found such a multi-skilled human.

I travelled last Sunday from the west midlands to East Anglia, I expected that the two leg journey would be uncomplicated but a little slow. What one could drive in 2 hours takes 4 on the train but I like traveling on trains, the changing scenery, changing faces and listened conversations all build a picture of British life that in other circumstances you don’t get a chance to see. At Birmingham I came across a hitch, the train for Stanstead Airport was cancelled and so my connection lost, I had visions of Michael Palin stranded in Wadi Halfa [sp.?] without transport of any kind, just a bag and a blank expression. At least British summer heat was stable at mild and slightly damp and not racing off into the hundreds and as dry as a slice of organic toast. I was advised to travel via Nottingham, which to my mind was a long way off track but a short snappy terrier of a woman assured me it was the best connection available. So with only one moments hesitation when a clambered off the Nottingham train whilst it lingered on Platform 5a and then clambered back on, much to everyones annoyance, I settled [on the floor] with my book and a grumpy outlook. We passed through a number of one horse towns and Burton-on-Trent where the smell of beer rushed onto the overcrowded train along with a crowd of jostling teenagers who sniffed and sneezed their petulant way to Nottingham.
The train out of Nottingham was cool and clean, the seats free and generously sized, I sat next to two young army boys who were running late on their was back to barracks, and the woman in the drawing who I couldn’t resist sketching as in profile she was quite stunning.