I'm finally getting on with the aftermath of any big change, all the phone calls to say that Dad is no more, that I'm taking over his account and can I give you my details, or can I cancel entirely? Hours spent on the phone, because there isn't an address to write to, or if there is, you're still tempted to phone anyway because it just might be that a few hours spent listening to Frank Sinatra singing 'New York, New York' while waiting for an advisor will be more enjoyable than composing ninety-four letters and posting them. Well, surely it must be? Sigh.
I'm tempted to be cynical. All that stuff about pressing 1 for bill payments, or 2 for technical enquiries, or 3 for moving house, or 4 for a nipple massage might be bogus. Could be that any button pressed takes you to the same person, who just puts on a different voice in between going to the toilet or playing sudoku or whatever callcentre people do all day. Actually I am being unfair. Many people I've spoken to recently at such places have been very nice and genuinely helpful, and it WAS a whole lot easier than writing a letter. But don't you hate the music in between connections?
One outfit I'm looking forward to phoning is Sky. Dad had the full package, phone calls and all. The person on the other end is going to be desperately put out that I don't want to continue, that I want to cancel it all, and amazed to hear that I hardly watch any TV, no time for it. Or if I do watch, the four main channels will do nicely thank you, and for preference just BBC1, BBC2 and Channel Four. And that I'm fond of Radio 4. I'm just not a TV person. I'd be frantic if deprived of my computer for ten minutes, or nowadays my phone, but TV is dangerously low on my horizon. There is absolutely no inducement that will make me watch a programme I don't seriously want to see. Actually this is true of films as well. I'd rather talk or read, or be doing something real. Sorry, Sky. The only snag with cancelling Sky is that the landline may get temporarily cancelled as well. No big deal.