Joni got it right
Straying for a moment from my daily brief, today I am joining other Rust columnists who recently have been detailing their brushes – and frustrations – with the modern world and how it doesn’t really work in favour of those of us beyond the first flush of youth.
In the year 2020, when artificial intelligent robots can diagnose diseases and conditions as easily as any human medical professor or consultant – and then probably also carry out the necessary surgical operations to deal with them; when space scientists can send craft towards the furthest recesses of the known universe and plan to send men to Mars; when a teenage kid in her bedroom can record a video demonstrating how to apply a new cosmetic product, randomly ‘go viral’ and then attract over a million “followers” around the globe on social media overnight; and when I personally cannot watch my own television through no fault of my own … you do begin to wonder what the world is coming to.
I needn’t do more than report the basic facts.
On Sunday 23rd February – as I detailed on this website shortly afterwards – I had planned my entire weekend to culminate with two and a half hours’ worth of watching the much-anticipated Six Nations rugby clash between England and Ireland at Twickenham that was being broadcast ‘live’ on ITV, kick-off 3.00pm.
At first everything went entirely accord to plan. The chores and shopping done, an early and satisfying lunch consumed, I had settled in my favourite armchair in front of my television with the quadraphonic sound system engaged – tea and cakes scheduled to be served at half-time – to wallow in the event de jour.
The build-up to the game – the pre-recorded video interviews with the coaches, the features on particular players and the key areas that would decide the contest and the studio discussions – proceeded pleasantly and without incident.
Anticipation mounted – a comfort break was taken during the commercial break before the players then emerged from the stadium tunnel and the anthems were belted out with their customary passion and commitment – and everyone was “ready to go”.
And then, dear reader, it all went wrong.
Some fifteen minutes into the game, my television screen suddenly switched from high-definition and “in yer face” close-up coverage to … a screenful of “snowing” multi-coloured rectangles obliterating any sight of the contest or indeed the commentators’ voices, save for a fuzzy, muzzy (as if they were broadcasting from underwater) mumbling.
This viewer couldn’t believe what he was (not) seeing.
Within ten minutes I had established that the problem was not with the ITV coverage – it was still available to view if you possessed a smartphone and the “ITV Hub” App (which as it happened I didn’t) – but in fact with the entire Virgin Media cable service of some 350 channels.
All of them were broadcasting the same snowing “multi-coloured rectangles” and indistinct sound.
There are simple three-digit customer phone numbers that a Virgin Media customer can ring in order to register a problem with their service.
I rang both – and could not get through to speak to a human being. This was not entirely Virgin Media’s fault. Their automated system at one point required that the customer key in his account PIN number and password. Being over the age of fifty, naturally, I hadn’t the faintest clue what these were … and, just as naturally (as night follows day) if one couldn’t supply them, the automated system did not allow you to go any further.
Instead, you were directed to the Virgin Media website and there to register a fault and the designate number that identified the type of fault that you were suffering.
I tried this but got nowhere. When I tapped in the “S102” fault-type, I received an on-screen message on my computer screen indicating that this was invalid and my best bet was therefore to ring the customer help line.
Which I’d already done, course – and got nowhere.
Eventually, via perseverance, I managed to listen to a recorded suggestion that I “re-boot” my Virgin Media box. This I did over the next three hours at least ten times – each of them resulting in a blank screen with the message “We can’t seem to upload our data, wait a few minutes …” after which nothing then ever happened.
Dear reader – Sunday 23rd February is now eighteen (18) days ago and I have yet to have (any) Virgin Media television service restored – as I mentioned a theoretical 350 channels’ worth – of which I only ever watch ten (10).
Every few days I ring the Virgin Media customer line – and here’s one success, these days I now get to speak to a human being – and every time I get promised that “normal service” will be resumed within 48 hours.
Until the last time I rang, three days ago, and was told that – contrary to previous advice – the problem was not with my Virgin Media cable box at all but with a severe ‘outage problem’ with their system in my area that would be fixed by 18th March.
As I typed earlier, this modern 2020 world has come to a fine thing when I’ve been deprived of all television for eighteen days already and am relying on yet another promise (never a guarantee) that it will be resumed at some time soon.
A lot of things can happen in eighteen days – or indeed in twenty-five as it will be by the time 18th March comes around – and, as they say (or indeed as Joni Mitchell once sang) “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone” …
