I had no response to my letter to Ian Livingstone, just a Direct Message on Twitter asking for my details. It appears that my blog containing the letter to him struck a chord with people and subsequently attracted thousands and thousands of visits, including someone from BT. Within hours I had a call from their 'response centre' confirming that we should shortly be back on-line. Sure enough, a quick check revealed that my drip of intermittent connectivity had become a trickle. Now one week later, I may not have a raging torrent of Internet terrificness but I do have a steady stream that allows me to function once more as a fully subscribed member of the 21st century.
However ironically, since my connection has been restored, I have been noticeably less interested in on-line activity than at any recent point in time. In the main this is due to studiously avoiding any media coverage of the royal wedding. It's not that I'm a fervent anti-royalist by any means, in fact my attitude to the monarchy could best be described as apathetic with perhaps a touch of republicanism.
I do of course understand the arguments about the revenue they bring in from tourists. These are the very same people whose ancestors rejected and in some cases murdered their own monarchies and on principle I would happily take their gullible money. However, the whole pomp and ceremony of the proceedings is so outmoded it feels almost comical and I feel the same level of squirming embarrassment as I do when watching those
Any family that needs to change its name (from Saxe-Coburg and Gotha) to Windsor, in order to be seen as 'more British' during the first World War will always struggle to gain my support and in any case my inverted snobbery will not allow me to show any enthusiasm toward inherited privilege.
However, my opinions are very different to my families, hence Mel, her sister Penny and her Mum had prepared a sumptuous buffet, bedecked the house in union jacks and cracked open the bubbly to celebrate the happy couples big day. In truth, they celebrate the opening of an envelope with almost as much gusto but this time they really pushed the boat out for the Royal Wedding. I was forced to scurry for cover and was unable to partake in any of the delicious foods on offer less I be accused of hypocrisy but thankfully I found a partner in cynicism in my Father-in-law Fred.
We spent a couple of hours in a deserted B&Q ordering our new kitchen for the holiday home in France and then headed off to a 9 hole golf course which was packed to the doors with other regal ceremony evacuees. They all wore the same expression, that of someone who had dodged a six hour bullet.
We carefully checked the radio only to discover the sycophantic gushing still in full flow, so we took our time and after a pint of bitter and a Fish and Chip lunch we cautiously returned home to find it was thankfully all but over. To our immense relief we discovered it had all gone well and that Princess Anne had made it over all the fences unscathed. The buffet had been demolished, the champagne quaffed and the girls were asleep, either overcome with the emotion of the big day or pissed on too much champagne depending on which school of thought you subscribe to.