Blogrot

It has been a little while since I last posted, and, whilst the creative juices have been flowing steadily - in fact more than usual, as I have invested in a new coffee machine - I have been frustrated in my postings by 'technical difficulties'. In fact, this will effectively be a blind posting, as I can see to write it, but the server at Tonbridge School does not see fit to let me view the finished article. There could be several intriguing reasons for this. Perhaps the many leggy photos adorning this site, and the resulting high number of flesh coloured pixels have fallen foul of the school's porn sensor. Or Censor? Maybe Blogger.com is a banned site in case the boys take it into their heads to become libellous. Though this would require them to spend time writing - not a thing I have found them all inclined to do. Or, and this is particularly intriguing, it could be something to do with the two comments on my last post that I know are there, but the school server is not allowing me to read. Have my pupils discovered the blog, and started writing revenge-fuelled home truths? (It was parents' evening a week ago.) Is it more spam, encouraging a discretion-free, dictatorial filter to kick in? Or is somebody getting saucy?

If it wasn't enough that the Tonbridge server is being difficult, the internet in Tooting has become a distant dream. I foolishly thought that I should try Orange as a provider, as I already pay them a huge amount of money, and it seemed a good deal. Three weeks later, I have no internet access, I've spent approximately six hours on the phone to various robotic voices, and I'm seriously considering becoming the next mail-bomber. When I finally decided, a week ago, to cancel the order, as it was plain that it wouldn't work, a nice man at Orange told me it was my fault as I should have checked to see if their broadband worked with a Mac. Since then, my landline has broken down completely, and BT have left me a note saying that I should contact them to re-arrange an engineer to fix the problem. But left no contact number. Perhaps they have seen the light, and don't have a phone? At least then they would save themselves the indignity of being seen standing in the middle of a car-park raving insanely at a tape-recorder telling them for twenty minutes that 'your call is important to us'. If it was important, why not employ a person to answer the phone?

William is still in hospital. They are tinkering with the recipe of his drip feed, which is a long and tedious process. He has managed about two weeks at home in 2007. In the meantime, we received an update latter from his surgeon, suggesting that he should be assessed at Birmingham Children's Hospital, where they are leading experts in all things gut-related. More alarmingly, he detailed the various different ways in which he feared that William might meet his premature 'demise'. Once again, the medical lexicon came to the fore. House sparrows are suffering a gradual demise. The wearing of trilbies has suffered a demise. The use of dried egg in cookery. Suffering a demise. But William? I suppose there's no way of putting it nicely. 'These are the ways in which your son may eventually snuff it?'

Whilst there is no immediate prospect of getting any sort of recompense from the Maker for his error in William's assembly, or from Orange for their error in thinking they could turn the future anything other than a shade of rage-induced red, I do hope now to get some satisfaction from the chap who turned my leg into a Meccano set. I saw my lawyer last week, and he struck me as a man who knew his business, and would make the process as painless and fair as possible. And he had read the blog, thus making him a very lovely chap. The flip side of this, of course, is that in due time, the other side may do some web-based research too. And they have bought time, by denying fault, despite the fact that the driver pleaded guilty to driving without due care. Could they counter-sue for libel if I called their client a BMW-wielding, limb-destroying, and now apparently schizophrenic delusional? Let's see.

There are no photos in this blog, not least as I think my camera was one of the victims of the break-in at New Year. I am now at the point of being able to claim for what I know has been lost. As the burglars left only my classical CDs behind, and pinched every piece of recorded music that was either Jazz or involved a drum kit, it seems that the saddest thing that they stole was what was left of my 'cool'. Is it possible to claim for this? How much would it be worth? Could I ever prove that I had it in the first place? And if there are any phantom blog commentators out there, leaving mysterious messages that I can't read - that's a rhetorical question.