Two weeks offline is a long time... but two weeks back on is even longer

Virgin - who wrote with such sensitivity from one department when we informed another of my father's passing - upgraded our broadband service in November. They didn't ask us. They didn't request details of our router and its age/sophistication/capacity for greater speeds. They did write with two days' notice and tell us it was happening. And then, one Monday, they did it. And then, suddenly, we had no internet no more. We waited, and it didn't come back. We switched the box back off, and back on again and it didn't come back. And we waited. And it didn't come back.

My boss had emailed a week earlier to tell me (and a bunch of others) that she'd/we'd been commissioned to write a paper on the project that ended when the baby came, and that she'd appreciate our input. Virgin put paid to my contribution by allowing me no access whatsoever to the internet, though we had a perfectly functioning wireless LAN. Which was nice.

I phoned Virgin a lot, and they kept me on hold a lot, then they made me follow instructions to set up the box with new passwords, and nothing happened. Terry phone them, and stayed on hold a lot, and followed the same instructions, and nothing happened. And they never really told us what the problem was, or how or when it would be fixed. As one week turned into two, I quietly cheered the fact that this majorly got me off the hook with work (because I really, really feared I couldn't make a sensible contribution and would show myself up as a bit useless), but I pined for t'internet. In the middle of week two, I realised this was probably my longest time offline since I started my PhD in 1996. And then I pined some more. They phoned us back a couple of times, but I was out. The messages they left gave the central switchboard number, so we went through the options and went interminably on hold, and whoever took our call treated us like we were starting a fresh enquiry - no continuity.

But then, after two weeks, and following 25 minutes on hold in a call I returned because when they called 4 minutes earlier the baby was almost asleep on my boob, they fixed the fault. Allelujah.

So I checked my email, and skipped over the many, many emails about the paper, to the one that said that hooray, today, after two weeks' hard grind (of which I had no part), it had finally gone. And I felt a bit guilty. But I got over it.

And then I got a text. 'Call for proposals has just come out. Closing date two weeks today. Would really appreciate your help on this.' Damn.

Gosh, damn, it filled me with fear and dread. Paper-writing is bad enough, but bid-writing? Actually coming up with ideas? Yikes. And then having to come up with a reasonable literature review after a year out of the game? Ouch.

Worse, this was the day Terry finished work for three whole weeks, his first holiday since the baby was 3 weeks old; this was the day before my brother arrived from the States to sleep on our floor and commute far to work but then hang out with us in the evenings for a week; the week I'd scheduled to spend 2 days doing homework for my course; and the week before we were due to go on holiday. Rubbish, rubbish timing. 'Oh well,' said the boss, clearly thinking she had it worse, having just had three weeks on the paper. 'Oh well.'

Anyhoo, my brother came, we saw picked him up and saw T5 (I like!), Terry worked Monday to Wednesday despite having 'finished', my brother hung out, the anticipation of work made me very, very grumpy, and then I did my two days promised on the bid. And you know? It was ok. And my boss, whose stinginess with praise and professional brilliance conspire often to make me feel very small and rather dim, was pleased, impressed, complimentary and grateful.

My homework didn't get done, but after 4 days of procrastination we booked the holiday, and then after a few days we went on holiday, and it was lovely.


And then we came back and we turned on the router. And we had a wireless LAN. Which was nice. But no internet....