Harumph. Last night saw a wee splash of rain and a whole load of inconvenience in London. And this rather disgruntled Londonista was caught up in it.
It’s not that we are spoiled brats and can’t cope without our PCs and tellies for an evening. By all accounts a snuggly, fire-lit night in, cooking pancakes over candles and making conversation with each other, never did anyone any harm – why the thrice weekly power cut was the highlight of the decade for kiddies growing up in the seventies.
But utility cuts can only be designated fun times if advance notice is given, and the right supplies are laid in. When the bloody power (or water) goes off when you are covered in soap in the shower, or halfway through your souffle’s cooking time, or when you are running a business involving hordes of disorganised members of the public, it is not fun. Really, it isn’t.
Why does this still happen in London? This Londonista has had serious power failures three times this year, one involving a blackout of 24 hours. It’s not even like you can claim compensation – they only pay out after an initial 24 hour period of loss. This is the noughties, and we expect better.
It looks as if there could be worse to come ‘n’ all, if industry forecasts are accurate.
Time to buy shares in the tallow industry. And a candle powered computer, perhaps.
Flickring piccie courtesy of Glen Bowman’s flickr stream.
