There is something about growing old disgracefully!

Lovely carol concert last Thursday!  The Bedford Eagle Choir were in fine voice and we met up with lots of our friends.  I wore a down filled ski jacket and still nearly froze to death as the venue was a traditional English church with heating dating from the Norman age.  It gave us oldies something to grumble about.

Yesterday I was able to vent my ageing spleen on Virgin Media for their dreadful customer service.  I have spent nearly a month complaining about my nearly non-existent broadband speed and had been passed from pillar to post by their so called technical support.  No-one called me back when they promised and I could not remember how many times I had to unplug the cables and reboot  the modem.  By the end of the month I was becoming fluent in Urdu and could nearly write in Sanskrit

Yesterday, I actually was able to speak to a supervisor who spoke Queen’s English.  I opened our conversation by telling her that I was a very unhappy customer and nothing that I was going to say was meant to be personal but as she had stuck her head above the trench I let her have both barrels and finished her off with a double tap.

Result!  I had an engineer call that afternoon who found that their equipment was faulty and I now have a ‘Super-hub’ fitted, whatever that means.  I have been given a free upgrade to their fastest cable speed and more importantly I have been given a full refund of a month’s broadband charges.

My darling Pollyanna is convinced that I have become so cross and grumpy because I have had my arm in plaster for over a month and I am suffering from Gym withdrawal symptoms but I know that it is just that being a semi-crock has given me time to think.  I am going to begin to act my age.  (With one or two exceptions that suit).

I have decided that from now on I am not taking crap and poor service from anyone!  I refuse invites if I don’t feel like going, no excuses I just tell it straight, I don’t feel like going out on cold evening\I don’t like the company\I don’t drink and drive and I would need a drink to numb the pain if I went.  I try to be polite but I am no longer telling porkies about not going.  If I am complaining about poor service, I now go to the top.

When I had a complaint about our council, I went to my MP’s surgery and my complaint ended up with him asking a question in the House on my behalf.  Now if I have a complain about our services, my Borough Councillors fall over themselves to put the matter right.  I am convinced that my name is RED FLAGGED but at least someone listens.  I now have Richard Branson’s e-mail address on file for future complaints about Virgin Media.  He won’t reply but he will know which minion will be the right person to deal with me.  “I don’t believe it”  “Oh God! it’s that old git complaining again”.

From this time on I am going to take tough meat back to the butchers and below grade vegetables back to the farm shop.  I shall send back badly prepared food in the restaurant.  I shall check my till receipts to make sure that I haven’t been overcharged and woe betide when I am ignored by a shop assistant as one of those grey people who don’t matter.  Mind you I have always been a shopper from Hell because that is my default setting.

The next time that my garden shed gets broken into and one of ‘Blunkett’s Bobbies’ calls around three days later to give me a crime number, I shall insist that our new highly overpaid Police Commissioner sends round the full CSI team.

All these new resolutions and it’s nowhere near to the New Year.  Oh tidings of comfort and joy!

About Jake

Long retired travel writer, author and freelance journalist. Educated at Wolverton Grammar and Greenwich Naval College. Happily married since 1958, with a married son and daughter, a married granddaughter and an adult grandson. Hobbies rock-climbing, dinghy racing and ocean racing. Still regularly working out in the gym.
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