Waiting for British Gas to come fix my bathroom radiator. Excitement guaranteed. Of course, it's a 8-2pm slot, so they'll come at 1.59pm. Or on past form, call at 1.59pm and ask to reschedule the appointment because of 'busy.'
Dealing with a water bill that warns me 'my consumption is more than normal' and that we 'may have a leak.' Probably because the numbskulls estimated the last bill using the randomization function. Of course, I can't find the old bills (probably fed them to the shredder). Call them. Set up an account, they say, which I do, and two hours later I'm still waiting for the confirmation email. It's never simple this utilities malarkey. It's either that or go outside to figure out how to get the meter cover off with the contents of my singular Ikea-supplied tool kit and see if it's giddily twirling through the numbers without my help. All my own fault for not simply telling them to come and read it properly, I mean, I'm sorry if I'm burdening them.
This is how I spend a day off (alas the mothership owes me so much time, I just don't bother on Fridays). Le sigh. On the plus side, we're going to explore the forgotten bowels of Euston station later and then having lashings of beer.
