Bear blog

Our landline was connected today by a very nice man from [a certain national phone company]. He was supposed to be arriving 'in the morning' which I had taken to mean any time after about 11. But at 9am sharp there was a very polite knockety-knock-knock at the door and a smiley man with a toolbox was stood on the doorstep.
"Come in and do your duty," I cried, stepping aside to let him pass.

"Ooh dear," He said, upon seeing the handywork of the last inhabitants of our house. "That shouldn't be like that. Not like that at all."

"To be honest," I replied, "I'm not at all surprised."

But he sorted it all out wonderfully well, complete with diatribe on how malicious and greedy the capitalist swine at [a certain national phone company] actually are, and with emphatic orders, when I broached the subject, that I was not, under any circumstances, ever to entrust the job of moving our sockety thing to said company under threat of being ripped off good n'proper. Instead I am to get the old man to do it himself of a weekend, or alternatively to slip £20 to the bloke who advertises his skills in such matters in the back of the local rag.

"It's disgusting, really." He sighed, upon leaving. "The good-for-nothings you have to put up with these days just to get your bloody phone connected."

To meet someone with such obvious job satisfaction at that time of the morning leaves a fuzzy feeling in my tummy.