I've been in Blue Hell

02:13:2003
Or BlueYonder hell, to give it it's full name.

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or Blueyonder Hell, to give it its full name.
[extended text]

My ISP recently cut off my cable internet for (as they said) 'Running an open proxy server' which meant that one of the meaningless screens of options in a program called 'winroute' which I didn't even originally install had something called 'SOCKS' taking up 'port 1080' - which is a no-no, according to the CIC (Cunts In Charge) at Blue Yonder. Probably my infraction means nothing to anyone but a bunch of TCP/IP beardies who are right now stroking their goatees and nodding sagely. 'Oh dear dear dear' , they're saying 'An open Proxy server! and on port 1080 of all places!. He even had odd SOCKS!'
Well, not wanting to bring this whole piece into the gutter, I'd just like to say Fuck Blueyonder. Fuck their mean spirited practice of cutting off people's cable without even calling them up first and telling them what's going on. Fuck their tech support who are a bunch of clueless jobsworth cunts. Fuck their sales department who know fuck all about anything, and an especially big ol' Fuck Off goes to a mysterious department in Woking (I'm told) called merely 'Abuse' who seem to be the gestapo of BlueYonder. Tech suppport seemed scared of them. Sales were unaware of their existence (mind you that lot are probably unaware of the existence of their own arses). No one would give out the phone number of Abuse. No one would put you through to Abuse. No one would even call Abuse while you were on hold. Everything just got entered onto 'Your Ticket' which seems to be a friendly way of phrasing the term 'Permanent file to be held by Abuse until the day you die'.
'what I'm going to do, Mr -------r, is put the fact that you called again on your Ticket and Abuse will see that it's written there'
That's what I was told approximately fifteen times over the last six days.
That's how many phone calls over how many days it took to sort this shit out and get my wire turned back on. I was told god knows how many times that 'an engineer from Abuse will call you' but the only phone call I ever got was while I was out (of course) because they gave no forewarning of what time they would call. Even the sodding gas man says morning or evening on a certain day, and that's for schlepping to your house. All these fucks have to do is pick up a phone and press a few buttons. Eventually I got passed 'up' to the fabled Tech support 'Second Teir' who were the ones who actually knew something. I've dealt with the Second Teir a couple of times, and with the 'Third Teir' once. I can't tell you whether the Third Teir were any good because I was so excited at the fact that I was talking to a 'Third' that I can rember little of the encounter.
Anyway the shit's working again finally, and I've been hitting the 'fat pipe' at last after having to rely on my laptop's 56k dialup which brought back nasty memories of pre-broadband life. That's when I realised I had become pathetically dependent on this hook-up. During my time 'off the band' I had taken to wandering Highgate cemetary and holding **m up to Kark Marx's tomb.
I also got all muddy trying to find Max Wall's headstone but it eluded me.

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