KPN rings in mysterious ways

A few days ago, I cancelled my KPN telephone subscription. I hardly ever use my landline and really don’t like being called on it. It’s interesting how someting once so essential can become superfluous.

Only a handful of people had its – unlisted – number. I generally use my mobile to make the few calls I make and have done for the last decade or so. The KPN subscription was a waste of money.

I got an XS4ALL (my adsl provider) VOIP number at 5 euro per month instead. I don’t expect to use it much, but it’s nice to have anyway. I plugged my old phone into my modem yesterday, it was surprisingly easy. Had to fiddle around with the settings a little. Tested the old number. No answer. Good. Tested the new… yep, it worked.

Five minutes later the phone rang. Huh?

‘Hello, this is KPN, is this Ms Prolific? As a valued customer, we have an offer for you…’

‘I no longer am a KPN customer. I cancelled my number this week.’

‘OK, have a nice evening.’ *click*

How did they get through to me? Did they ring my old number? Or the new VOIP number? How would they even know my VOIP number?

I’m puzzled.

Bruxelles, oui ou non?

For reasons known only to myself (I’m baffled), for my holidays next week I’ve decided to fly into Nice and then travel back via Marseille, Paris and Brussels. I fly in on Tuesday 28th, will stay in Nice for a few days, move on to Marseille on the 31st, stay a few more days and then from there take a train down to Paris, where – after a three hour break – it’s off to Brussels, arriving in the early evening. I’m travelling first class, so it should be fairly comfortable.

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From there I have two options. Go straight on to Amsterdam, which is another three hour trip, or stay over in Brussels, and the next day go photo hunting and have lunch at Scheltema before catching the train back home.

… can’t seem to make up my mind.

Did you see what I did there? Embedded a Google Map.

“Tomorrow belongs to me”

Finally was able to make the big announcement today.

This is what I’ve been immersed in for the last two months (regular readers will perhaps have picked up on the Germanic flavour of certain items and links here), basically doing research and lending a hand wherever I can. Nothing major, mind. It isn’t a ‘job’, it’s sort of a string of small favours. What I get in return is the joy of being part of the process, which is just endlessly fascinating.

My trip to Dublin has been booked for a while now, eventhough the contracts hadn’t even been signed. I had faith.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a summer break in Ireland, as far as I remember. I’m going over for a week, arriving a few days before the shows to do what I can during the last two production days. I can’t wait to see it and find out which of my tiny contributions survive and come alive on stage.

I know it’s going to be brilliant.

Ich bin 6 m gross und alles ist wichtig
Ich bin 9 m gross und alles ist mehr als wichtig
Ich bin 12 m gross und alles ist unvorstellbar

‘In the name of United, and the BBC’

On Metafilter, Pat ‘Wax on, wax off’ Norita’s death announcement gets more posts than George Best’s. I’m not sure what that means, if anything.

I have been at home and in bed with a really bad cold for the past few days, so reading MeFi and watching West Wing episodes is about all I’ve been up to. The worst thing about colds is not being able to taste food, taking the pleasure out of surely the greatest pleasure.

Winter is not my favourite season.

One pumpernickel bagel with chopped liver, please

It rained a solid six days while I was in New York. That was a bit of a downer, especially when it was so bad there was nothing else to do than stay in our incredibly whiffy ‘hotel’ room. It took me a few days to get used to the city, its advertising, the cabs and the sirens, its cops, 24 hour culture, 31-derful flavours and in oh my gawd we trust. By the time I felt aclimatised, it was time to go home.

One thing I got used to very quickly. Tasty food and snacks everywhere, at all hours, for next to nothing. (Bless the strong Euro.)

Now I’m home, not terribly jet-lagged at all (yet) and there are family matters to attend to. ‘Hours or weeks.’ That kind of thing.

Flesh and bone by the telephone

The week ahead, the day today. Got word from a very old Kiwi friend coming down for a few days in Amsterdam round about the same time an Aussie friend is staying with me for the U2 shows. Both of ’em sort of came over to Europe to see the band and never left, making Europe a little richer with their presence. Take it from me, we all need an Aussie/EnZed presence in our lives.

That’ll be Antipodean week then. Tihrruhfuc! It’ll be a good time to reminisce about the old days and the fun we had during the Lovetown tour, Zooropa, PopMart, Elevation… christ, it’s growing up with U2.

Feeling iffy about going to Paris tomorrow and completely drained from yesterday’s horrific events in London. I text my worries into space and get an instant booster: cliches and kisses from my own… personal… Jesus.

It simply isn’t

A few days ago I wrote a short post which later developed into a longer post. It went:

Steven Levy asks: “Since anyone can write a Weblog, why is the blogosphere dominated by white males?”

My answer: Because it isn’t.’

That was all and then later I started ranting why he didn’t go out and ask Anil, or Dooce, and Rachel and Firda, or Salam Pax and other Iraqi and Iranian bloggers, the entire country of Brazil, etc. etc. And then I was done ranting and I deleted the post. Which is just as well, because Derek as usual expresses himself a lot better than I can. Go read Powazek: The Big Mirror.

Continue reading “It simply isn’t”