October 04, 2004

Musical Chairs

There's turmoil on the homefront. We're in a state of flux. The exodus began last week when Nick moved out. We've known it was coming for months, but it has still hit hard. I managed to persuade him to stay an extra night on Friday, if only to provide me with company and walk me home after the pub. (Hot Swiss Mistress played a great if slightly bumpy set, the Elephant Men were pretty out there and Cookapie were classic blues rock.)

As a final gift, Nick set up his television (which is not a gift and which I still owe him for) downstairs to replace the set which Amelia is to take away with her when she moves out this weekend. He did a fine job, improvising with various remote control set ups so that we had the tv and xbox running through the vcr. Switch on with the universal remote, otherwise useless apart from volume control. Change the channels using the video remote, and use the xbox on video channel zero. So far, a hesitant so good.

It all went awry on Sunday evening when we decided to watch a dvd. The picture kept fading in and out. Then on Monday evening we could only get several wonky versions of channel 2. It turns out that the cause of the dvd fade was some kind of copyright control mechanism, and could be avoided by connecting the xbox direct to the tv. But that didn't solve our channel issues. Amelia utilised her super texting capability and sent a further plea for help. Nick called.
"Nick, it's just grey!"
"Use the video remote to change the channels," he said. Bryn had had said remote moments earlier, but it had now disappeared.
"Help me, people!" Oliver and Amelia gazed vaguely around their seats. It was no use. The remote had fallen into another dimension. Nick's patience was wearing thin.
"Can't you come over after work?" I asked.
"No! The only time I can come over is during the day."
"Well that's no use to us!"
"I know. And I don't have a key." Oops. That's because I lost mine on Friday and required him to supply his.
"Yeeeah... okay." That was pretty much that.
Typically, the remote appeared concealed under the television set after I'd rung off. Not that it was any use.
Another text missive was sent emphasising our dilemma. The response? "Leave me alone." Great. So now we were harassing our prized ex-flatmate. I only hope we get it sorted by Sex and the City this evening... hang on, maybe it was the final last week?

This Friday we are having a farewell party. If you’re in the vicinity, and you know where I live, do come. On Saturday we have coerced Nick into taking us to his parents’ for dinner. I am guilty of such persuasive tactics as, “Nick, you have to understand how special family life is to me, how I crave to be amongst family, any family: your family!” while adopting a solemn and wistful tone. Seemed to work well.

In two weeks I move into a new home of my own… more on that later.


Blogger Jessie said...

// maybe it was the final last week?

Fear not, tv3.co.nz does not lie.

3:59 AM  
Blogger Jessie said...

Turns out the remote was concealed beneath the tv for a valid reason. It seems that whenever I touch it, it gets jammed on channel 8.

Thus it makes sense to put it under the tv. Simply taking the batteries out is far too taxing.


3:32 AM  

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