" Nothing Is Easy " ~ BroadBand and the Beasting!

Yes. How many of ye spotted, from that one, that I'm a huge Jethro Tull fan?

Anyway, this is one that just about looks set to run and run. The story of my own, seemingly endless, struggle to simply avail myself of what all you fuckers take absolutely for granted. A Broadband connection.

It all started three whole and sorry years ago, when I washed up on these shores and set about the first priority of modern existence; Getting back on line. In fact, come to think of it, I guess one could say it started before I even left england. I had pretty good BB then and used it, as I thought, wisely. Not only did I find and buy this place over it. I also had the where with all to check out the going prices of donkeys and suss out the local ISP's.

Eircom are, of course, about the equivalent of what BT used to be over there. (Make of that statement what ye will too!) Fact is, they're the main name. But, one glance at the fora and I soon found just what name most of their wretched customers tended to call them!

And yet, for some damn reason which I can now no more remember than begin to fathom; I signed up with the bastards! And, without getting ahead of my self, ye'll soon see that some things have a way of repeating themselves.

So, here I was, sat here in my semi derelict cottage in the smack bang middle of absolutely fucking no where. Sans internet. It goes without saying that this was a bit of a monkey on my back. And that's probably got something to do with why I ~ like a junky, crazed beyond reason by the need for what helps him through the night ~ ended up disregarding all the wailing and gnashing of teeth across the native fora and got onto Eircom.

Pleasently surprising, at first. I mean, I had to ring them rather a lot. But what red blooded man could maintain too much tight lippedness when constantly running up against a soft, femminine, Irish accent?! God knows, That little trick had already got me to shell out thousands on a top of the range Dell computer! Frankly, I think that girls voice and manner could have sold me a drawer full of dead fucking rats!

Buy anyway, I stayed the course and kept on phoning and enquiring. Even though the responses had long since slipped seemlessly from the sweet softness of promise to the blunt, Ulster accent of down right beligerance. The bastards messed me around, prevaricated and down right Lied to me. For Ever! Or so it seemed.

Eventually though, after an eternity of bullshit, I one day switched on, fired her up and found myself On Line. Oh the joy! Oh the speed too! It took them months to get it to me. But here I finally was; Skidding round the net on my Eircon " ANY TIME 320 " broadband connection. Great!

Life was soon returning to normal for me then. I'd get up. Check my e mail. Have a shoofty round the fora. Go out and do my chores. Maybe even pop into town for the day. What ever. Things were still rosy when ever I returned to look at my screen. That connection held like a limpet and ran like a train. I'd surf all night and hardly ever hit a glitch. Brilliant! I was a happy bunny.

Then, a month later, the Bill came in ..... One THOUSAND fucking Euro's!!!!! Think I'm shitting ye? I wish to fuck I was! Of course, I rang them and asked them if there was some mistake. A Grand? For a months internet connection??? Surely .....

Nope. It was correct. To the last cent. In fact, I should point out here that ~ give them their due ~ the human beings I spoke to did at least have the human decency to sound ashamed and in sympathy with my awful plight. After all, they just lied and misled people for a living. But we all have to make a crust, eh? And they were, after all, simply doing what their management ordered them to do. Doesn't mean to say they had to like or even agree with it. But I still had to pay.

Turns out, see, this was the biggest fuck off since " I won't cum in ye mouth. " A sly and deliberate trap into which I'd freely wandered, completely oblivious to its vicious and cynical truth.

" Any Time ". Sounds like " Always On ", doesn't it? Or maybe, " Free Time ". Just another brand name for the perfectly normal broadband. The one which ye fire up and forget. " Flat Rate " they call it, don't they?

Aye, well the ubiquitous 'They' might. Fucking Eircon called it " 320 ", or what ever the little, innocuous number they stitched on, in small print, was. And ye know what? That was the number of minutes or hours, what ever, that one could have out of " Any Time " in a given month, before the slimy bastards starting charging ye by the fucking second!!!

And there's me, swanning off into town, leaving the fucking thing On??? May as well have phoned the Aussie person we have reading this place, then just leaving my phone off the hook and bidding them do the same. I mean, why the fuck not? It's only a staggering fucking phone bill I'd be running up! And didn't I just! Bastards!

Anyway, that's quite enough 'Talk Time' from me, for now. I'm finding myself glancing out the window and needing to get on. Just had to remind myself for a minute there that it's safe to do so! I'm on this bloody Vodafone 3G thing now. That's another complete fucking piss take. But that too is another story. I'll tell ye about that later on.