Just the other week, I bumped into a good mate of mine inside a local supermarket as we were perusing the fruit and veg’ aisles and he dropped a bombshell within the first couple of seconds of our meeting: he’d just signed a new 18 month contract with BT for their new “Infinity” broadband service. After my incredulity began to subside, he went on to explain that one of their technologically-lacking cretins had promised unlimited downloads instead of the ten gigabyte cap he was now limited by and a connection speed increase from an already healthy 6mbs to a pretty blistering 15mbs. As I’m stuck on BT Broadband myself and despise everything relating to this money-grabbing, contract-altering company – see “BT Broadband: welcome to the dribbling trickle” for more details – I found it disappointing that my mate had succumb to their dangled carrot after all of our shared fury regarding their ineffectual service in the past.
As I use differing ways of delivering parcels within my job as an eBay manager, I’m acutely aware of which are the best and the worse in the realm of consignment and postage. For the majority of my work-related items, I use a dependable, private courier service that is competitive, always collect on time and offers fair rates; prices do shoot up if any stretch of sea-water has to be crossed and a weekend delivery is non-existent, but all in all I’m happy. The courier service in question offers franchises across the boroughs of the UK, so all the drivers are self-employed with a vested interest in ensuring your carefully packed parcels are handled correctly and appear at the addresses shown on their boxes in the same condition you sent them out in. Out of the many thousands of things I’ve whizzed off this way, only a couple of problems have arose and even these potential disasters have been resolved with a minimum of fuss and turmoil for all concerned; in short, my life is made easier by Interlink Express’ professional work ethic and customer service.
I’m now a few blog entries on from when I first visited my local NHS surgery due to feeling slightly unwell with my grotesquely swollen Parotid glands – see “A trip to the Doctors… pt 1″ for more details – and where my Doctor issued ultra-strong antibiotics along with scattergun, tablet-taking instructions which I strived to follow to the best of my ability: however, this proved harder than I originally thought it would be due to the baffled state of my everyday thought processes. This memory confusion arose within just one day of ingesting the small, red-coated Milpharm tablets and almost immediately they reduced me to a gibbering, sweat-soaked sociopath liable to instantly explode in an antibiotic-induced fury of magnificent proportions.