I had a whinge to the electricity company the other week about the power, and asked them if it was possible to check if there was enough variation in the power supply here that it could be causing the problems with my monitor and amplifier. It’s only a theory of course, but the problems are very, very irritating. And all since those three new houses got built over the back fence…

They sent a very cheerful bloke around last Wednesday with various gadgets. Problem is someone told him I was having problems with interference on my TV and radios… which I’m not. At least I don’t think I am. So the gadgets he had couldn’t measure the power supply. Hmm.

He said he’d take a look at the equipment anyway. So I turned it on. And waited. Did it do its thing? In front of a trained professional who might have been able to help rectify the problem? Of course not. No, but it happened ten minutes after the guy had left. Argh.

Anyway, I’m now waiting for the electricity company to send someone out who can actually look at the problem I seem to be having.

The day started well. For a while there I really thought I was blessed.

Walking to the station, I noticed I was a little late for the train. If I miss the 8:21 express, the next one is the 8:36, stopping. It may only be an extra 3 stops, taking about an extra 3 minutes, but there’s a big psychological difference! Extra time to read my book I suppose, but still.

I neared the station, walking briskly, keeping an eye on the time and listening out for an indication my train was coming. Cutting through the car park, I heard the ding-ding-ding of the crossing, meaning a train was approaching. So I started to run. My sunglasses (the cheapish ones, not worthy of the memory of my dear, departed Raybans) fell out of my pocket. I heard them clunk to the ground, and realised what the noise was. I turned around just in time to see a car turning, leaving the carpark. Vroom.

Worst case scenario: Car runs over sunglasses, which are shattered into a zillion little bits.

What actually happened: Car tyres missed the sunglasses by about 30 centimetres. Phew.

So I picked up the sunnies and ran towards the crossing and station entrance.

Worst case scenario: It’s my train coming, the crossing gate closes, and I can either risk death and/or a fine, or miss my train.

What actually happened: It’s not my train, it’s one on a different track, and the gate is open. I waltz into the station, validate my ticket and wait for the train.

I began to realise that it was a stroke of luck that the train wasn’t dead on time, because it usually is when I’m running late. After a couple of minutes the train arrived.

Worst case scenario: The train arrives. It is a non-air-conditioned one, and none of the windows are open, so I’ll be sweating like a pig for fifteen minutes. It is too packed to get a comfortable place to stand.

What actually happened: The train arrived. It was a non-air-conditioned one, but a few of the windows were mercifully open. It wasn’t so empty that I could get a seat, but I did get a good spot adjacent an open window, where I could enjoy the breeze, and where I could have one hand on a strap to keep myself upright, and one hand on my book.

The train zoomed along, and pretty soon I found myself getting off at my stop.

Worst case scenario: Parliament station escalator repairs, under the supervision of the Dodgy Brothers Escalator Repair Company, continue for the fourth week in a row, leaving four billion passengers all trying to fit onto one escalator. Some little old lady has planted herself firmly on a step in the "fast lane" and nobody behind her is game enough to ask her to move to the left hand side. When finally reaching the surface, more teams of little old ladies clog up the fare gates, unable to work out for themselves which way to put their tickets in the slots. Then I get surrounded by swarms of charity collectors, rattling their tins and proclaiming how us commuters are all filthy greedy capitalist bastards if we don’t hand over all our cash to dubious charity X.

What actually happened: Seemingly for the first time in weeks, all the escalators were working correctly, and everyone seemed aware of the unspoken escalator etiquette of keeping left unless overtaking. Everyone moved smoothly through the fare gates, and the charity people were nowhere to be seen.

I walked the block to work, successfully found my security pass, didn’t have to wait for the lift, and strolled into the office.

Only to find the power to the PCs was off due to a building fault. D’oh!

8pm postscript: One escalator out of action on the way home.

Brighton Beach, just after dusk, around 9pm. Great ambience, one would think. Serenity. Well, if not for the other people.

What possesses people to bring have their little kids out at the beach that late, especially on a school night? I would think that any ambience these people might think they could enjoy would be utterly shattered by of one of their children whining (I kid you not) "Awwwwwwww, I don’t like this place!"

Yet they persist. Go HOME people. There’s nothing for you here.

I was woken up by a phone call this morning. "Hello, Pete?" Bloody wrong number.

Okay, so it was only 2 minutes before my alarm clock was going to go off, but that’s not the point!

He was shaking in his seat
Riding through the streets
In a Silvertop
To her door

I may have to consider changing my preferred taxi company. Silvertop
has been okay, I can remember their phone number (131008), they have my address on file, and of course they’re referenced in one of my favourite songs.

Tonight though, they didn’t give me a brilliant performance. The cab I called seemed to take ages to get to me, and from the lack of geographical knowledge the driver was to display, I guessed that the reason he took ages is was that he couldn’t find me. After all, I only live on a main road…

When he did find me, he almost drove right past - past the reasonably prominently displayed street number, past me waiting on the street by the driveway, stepping towards the curb as he approached. Bravo, Mr cab driver.

His aforementioned lack of geographical knowledge (something that could be quite handy to have, if one was a cab driver) meant he needed directions pretty much for the whole trip. With the aid of my directions (lucky I knew where I was going!) his driving was okay. Well, apart from the two pedestrians he almost knocked down at one point, but to be fair, they were dithering and crossing against the lights.

Upon arrival at my destination, he was unable to find change from $20 for the $11 fare. Grumble. Okay, so I put it on my credit card instead. Hmm. Must remember to check the card statement carefully.

I am just a little bit pissed off. Yet again today I traipsed out to Hawthorn to the monitor repair place to collect my lovely 17 inch monitor. This time I specifically asked them if they’d found the fault - that it flickers off then on continually. They said no (hmmm: bad sign) but that the guy had re-soldered the whole thing just in case something was loose or cracked inside, then they’d run it for a couple of days to see if it would work okay. And they reckoned it did.

Problem is, I’ve just plugged it in again, and it’s still doing the same old same old. I know it’s not the PC’s problem, because the other monitor has been happily running on it while this one has been away. I’ve also tried it on other PCs, and it malfunctions. Hmm.

It might be a power supply problem. I know that for about the same amount of time that my monitor has been playing up, my hi fi receiver at the other end of the house has also been occasionally playing up.

So it might be time to try the monitor in a power point from the other side of the house… or perhaps in a completely different house.

I’ve been thinking about my medium to long term goals, and specifically how it relates to my home. My home is getting a little bit crap. The flat is a good size, in a good location, but it’s a bit rundown, mostly because my landlady, like most landlords the world over, is a little tight with money. In fact, only this week she was whinging about the cost of repairs. So it could be a while before the carpet - which is both hideous, and wearing away - is replaced.

In the long term one of my goals is to be in better control of the condition of my home. The easiest way to do this would be to buy my own home. Except that of course, buying a home is not easy. Quite apart from the fact that it’s a helluva load of money.

Home buying has been the subject of a kind of race among my colleagues at work - a race I’ve lost, as the other three in the race have in the past few weeks moved into their new houses, or at least bought them.

I also have some furniture which has seen better days. The couch cushions are starting to get enough holes in them that the not-quite-matching green patches I’ve been putting on them are starting to look rather… well, crap. Though I suspect the patches looked a bit crap all along. The kitchen table obviously needs some adjustment somewhere (possibly with a large axe) as it wobbles.

But should I upgrade all my furniture before buying a house? Should I wait, so I can buy furniture that better suits the house I might eventually buy? If I wait, I have to put up with crap furniture in the meantime. Or perhaps there is a temporary solution involving new cushion covers and (non-axe) adjustment of the table.

And if I do go for a wholesale upgrade of crappy stuff to non-crappy stuff, would it cost so much money that it would delay the house?

Taxing questions indeed. Maybe it’s a good time to check my bank balance.

Went to glue something today, and discovered the tube of superglue I had wouldn’t open. Because the lid was stuck closed. Figures, I suppose.