I called Microsoft this evening to tell them that the Xbox 360 they sold me is now nothing more than a white box which makes noises and has a retractable coffee mug (originally a disc drive).
After remaining on hold for over 20 minutes (I knew it was this long as was able to watch a whole episode of Neighbours while waiting) my call was answered by a Yank. Obviously the minimum wage in the United States is lower than in the United Kingdom and Mr. Gates didn’t make his billions by giving out wads of cash and freebies to his employees, hence the support desk being based in America.
I may as well have been ringing an Indian call centre. The Yank didn’t understand the place names I gave her or even the structure of a British address (we don’t have states or Zip Codes!).
Anyway, my 360 will be picked up by UPS in anytime up to 5 working days and returned anytime up to 15 days. Now like most people am I am at work during working days so how the fuck am I able to get my sodding device collected? Luckily I am leaving it with the secretaries at my dads work but really it’s isn’t a good service. I suppose Microsoft have my money now though so in Mr. Gates eyes I am just an annoyance.
I did take out insurance on my 360 from Argos. Now, if I was to get a can of Carling and empty the contents onto the machine I could get a new one within days under the “Accidental Damage” policy, so why when there is a manufacturing fault do we all have to piss about like twats in getting it sorted?
Finally it’s The Champions League final this evening between Arsenal and Barcelona. In Europe, Barca are normally my favoured team however I have a lot of respect for The Gunners.
Really, I wouldn’t mind who wins as long as it is a cracking game of football, if I did have to have a preference towards who picks up the trophy I would have to choose The Arsenal so good luck to Henry & co.
My ticket has arrived for Cardiff! I was a little worried I wouldn’t get one and would have to watch the game at home on Sky, but Leeds United didn’t let me down.
I’m in Row 25, it’s very far back so I may need to bring my binoculars, at least I’m there though. The atmosphere will be electric and when Leeds win the Play Offs and lift the trophy it’ll be one of the best experiences of my life… assuming Watford don’t fuck things up for me and selfishly win!
I can’t wait!
My Xbox 360 died this morning, hard to believe I know that a Microsoft product could ever develop a fault, this must be a first.
I have tried to fix it myself using the usual technical methods – cleaning the lens and discs, checking connections, swearing and issuing threats of violence. It just doesn’t want to play with me anymore. I must admit I have neglected lately, so like an ignored elderly relative it has passed away in its sleep. Unlike Aunt Mabel though, my 360 can be replaced.
I hear the returns policy is about as much fun as pulling teeth. Luckily when purchasing the console I took out additional insurance so fingers crossed I won’t encounter the problems that most other customers have experienced when getting replacements. I’m going to give the insurers a call tomorrow, hopefully it’ll all go to plan and I won’t be dealing with one of the evil insurance companies you hear about every week on Watchdog.
I suppose my 360 died at the best possible time (if there was one). Summer is around the corner so I am less likely to be playing video games and Big Brother & the World Cup will keep me entertained in the viewing department.
It appears that those Innocent Fruit Smoothies I have been drinking recently may make me healthier buy they do not make me indestructible (damn!). I learnt that I am still susceptible to “the common cold” (cough, sneeze, splutter).
I developed a sore throat on Friday night and since then have been moping around the flat with a snot filled tissue in one hand and packet of paracetamol in another. Only venturing outside to answer the door to my hairdresser and visit the local shops to buy food for dinner.
Today was boring. I sat around watching The FA Cup Final and Lost. I’ve finally caught up with season 2 and am at episode 21. I can now discuss it with my other friends who watch the series, as long as another set of friends who are following the show on Channel 4 are not about.
If you’re one of these people who watches Lost on Channel 4, don’t worry, there are no spoilers below. I do mention future episodes but nothing happens.
21 episodes later, 15 hours and 45 minutes of my life wasted. What did these people on the island accomplish in the second season? Not much. They pressed a button on a computer a few times for reasons unknown to us and that we are increasingly starting not to care about. A few people got pointlessly shot and we had about seven thousand boring flashbacks. I don’t know why I bother watching it but I will continue to do so.
I have a theory on how Lost is written. The writers are all ants in an ant farm. This ant farm is situated in an office in the basement of ABC Headquarters, in-between the writer’s room for “Everybody Hates Chris” and the old “Arrested Development” office, out of the way of all the decent shows. *
At the top of the ant farm is a massive pile of rice, each which a subject or character name inscribed on it in tiny writing. For example one grain of rice may read “Jack” another “Vision” another “Polar Bear”. The ants all carry the grains of rice to a chamber at the foot of the farm. Once there, the grains of rice are read in the order in which they were placed, each word on the rice linking together to form a storyline in an episode. For example “Jack” has a “Vision” of a “Polar Bear”.
A little far fetched I know but if anyone has a better guess on how Lost is written then let me know.
* OK, OK, I know ABC don’t produce these shows, but it gives me a chance to laugh at “Everybody Hates Chris” (an awful show) and wind Dan up about “Arrested Development”
This evening I watched a one off drama called “All in the Game” on Channel 4 which starred the excellent Ray Winstone (from the brilliant Sexy Beast movie).
The story focused on the much topical subject of corruption in football. Winstone plays a no nonsense manager of a struggling Premiership club which is under new ownership.
Winstone’s son is a corrupt football agent without a care for the beautiful game and who’s only concern is money. He is somebody who is willing to sell the clubs best players and bring in mediocre talent simply to make a quick wad of cash, all this being overseen and authorised by Winstone who receives a cut of the vast wealth.
The financially raped club is run by an experienced businessman although the job of being a football chairman is a new one to him. The man is distraught at the state of his beloved club, which he has invested millions into. The clubs downfall has also resulted in the poor chairman facing the brunt of furious supporters threatening both him and his family.
I personally found that the show was very entertaining and Winstone was perfectly cast in his role. Even though it was aired as a drama I am sure most of the issues raised in the storyline are common events in the modern game.
Corruption is rife. Agents, managers and chairmen are all in on it, taking bungs, financial backhanders and destroying the sport. Any football fan who followed the Harry Kewell transfer from Leeds to Liverpool a few years back will know something was seriously amiss. For shame.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
