Ed (33 and a half) writes:
My sister’s broadband had stopped working so I rang her ISP’s help desk. After 30 minutes of stupid, obvious questions they said they’d have to send a BT engineer to have a look. When they told me it was going to cost £180 I told them to get stuffed and decided to have a go at it myself.
Anyhow, it was Twenty20 finals day so I thought it’d be a grand idea to have the telly on so I could catch the mascot race. When I first switched on there was some other game on from a couple of years ago so I got the BT master socket wiring diagram out and studied it.
It turns out that only two of the BT drop lines have to be connected (orange and white). Furthermore, only three wires need to be connected for the extension sockets (the fourth is only connected for neatness).
The first semi-final had started, so I had a cheese butty and a well-deserved sit down. Once I’d washed my first food of the day down with a cup of tea, I popped out for a ciggie.
Halfway through chasing the first extension cable through the kitchen wall I heard the commentators say that Napier was in. By the time I got to the telly he was out.
My sister came home with her two kids. They had been to some other child’s party and Chloe (my niece) gave me a piece of sponge cake. I don’t really like cake but I had to humour her. They then left to go to another party.
I was just about done with the phone socket for the Sky box when the mascot race came on the tube. I downed tools, got a beer from the fridge and parked myself on the couch. It was an epic, dingdong battle. Despite my loathing of the giraffe, I had to support him.
The giraffe lost. It was disgraceful.
I finished up and put all their furniture back in place. I had another beer and a packet of smokey bacon crisps.
I went home and watched the final while I had fish finger butties for tea. I had some more beers and went to bed.