Deep sigh from a BT Pensioner

I thought I'd got it all wrapped up on Tuesday, and archly warned Martyn to expect a mystery parcel on Wednesday.  All this was for a new phone for himself, ordered - or so I thought - via the on-line chat function offered by my ever-loving ex-employer. 

It was therefore not a great delight to find, on returning yesterday evening in heavy traffic and pouring rain from an unusually dreadful day at the hobby in my less preferred location, that no parcel had arrived.  At this point I thought it best not to build disproportionate expectations, so spilled the beans as to the contents of the said mystery parcel.  Nothing having been heard here by this morning, I went back on the chat service, connected purportedly to the same 'Christian' I'd communicated with on Tuesday, who advised 'It'll be delivered today'.  Some hours later, having heard nothing, I called customer services, gave them my account number, and learned that there was no trace of the order. 

Well, after over twenty minutes of music on hold and blocked incoming calls, I think I've placed the order again with a living, breathing person in Canterbury.  I have not yet received a confirmatory email.  I may feel tempted to write to the person who signs the matesy letters to us when she's trying (and failing) to sell us banal TV sport packages. 

I have just had a call from someone in an overseas call centre purporting to be BT, and seeking to validate the delivery address, all of which I'd already given on ordering.  Hung up.  SMS some minutes later, asking me to call an 0800 number to confirm the delivery address, despite all this being linked to the account number I'd quoted.  Done, with the best grace I could summon.  Watch this space.

What else to report?  A wet washing day, and a trip into town this morning to order up some new glasses, since my current ones are now badly scratched after less than two years' service.  The sight test and examination revealed no new awfulnesses and, predictably, an improvement in my distance vision and a deterioration in the reading prescription.  Auld age disnae come its lane.  The new glasses are to be about half what I paid last time, with a free pair of half-moon readers thrown in.  This time I've chosen a frame that won't dig furrows in my temples, I hope.  We'll see when they are dispensed whether I 'should have gone to' the big name I went to this time.