Well, it was bound to happen eventually, given that using the internet right now means having to borrow someone else's computer, or their iPod, or going to the library, or going home. So I apologise for missing yesterday's update, but if you want a scapegoat to blame then Virgin Media will do nicely. I take pleasure, however, in the knowledge that we've signed up for e-billing, and I won't be able to pay the bills if I can't get on the 'net and read my emails.
So, with my computer still out of action, Cutlery is once again coming to you from Cardiff central library. I'm listening to Consolers of the Lonely by The Raconteurs and I'm raring to make up for lost ground.
Not long after the last update went up, Cliffey managed to fix his PS3, and there was much rejoicing. Somebody trod on it at the first party, you see, and the HDMI cable snapped off while it was still inside the console. Cliffey, of course, was not best pleased, but help was at hand in the form of a man and a website.
When the Virgin man came to install our phone and our TV and our internet that doesn't work properly, Cliffey told him of his plight, and, taking pity, our hero grabbed a pair of pliers and extracted the broken-off bit of cable from the console. Pete mumbled that he could have done the same if someone hadn't stolen his Leatherman at the first party, but Cliffey still had a problem in that he didn't have a cable to replace the broken one. And even if he did, who could say whether or not the PS3 itself had survived the being trodden on incident intact?
All Cliffey could do was leap and see where he landed. He logged on to eBay, and found an HDMI cable for about £3. It wasn't a huge loss, he reasoned, and if there was the slightest chance that it might revive his PS3 then it would be worth it.
The cable arrived while Cliffey was at work, and when he returned home form his shift, instead of eating or going to bed, the first thing he did was rip open the package, cross his fingers, and try the cable out.
And it worked. Success! No longer would we have to play Fifa '98 on the N64, longing for the almost too realistic face of Wayne Rooney in Fifa '10. No longer would we have to play Robot Wars: Arenas of Destruction on an outdated console. No longer would Cliffey have to swallow his sobs as he passed Soph's room, knowing that she had a working PS3 that hadn't been trodden on.
This whole story is second-hand, by the way. I had very little involvement in the whole episode, so sorry if I got any of the information wrong.
Now for some general house news. Our supply of sticky notes was decimated at the second party, because some delightful people decided to draw dicks on all of them. It's regrettable; we can still write on the greyish bit of cardboard underneath, but it's just not as cheerful.
Having said that, a deficit of post-it notes will almost certainly reduce the number of passive-aggressive notes regarding leftover food, of which there have been one or two of late. We are harbouring one or two fruit flies at the moment, and a few different people (I'm naming nobody) have a few different ideas as to what's bringing them in.
Personally, I think it's the smell coming from Soph's room.
Joel.
P.S. Last night was interesting too but I'll save that for another time. As I missed yesterday's update I'll do one tomorrow to make up for it.
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