All is far from well, good and dandy at Redfellow Hovel.
For reasons closely connected with the Lady in Malcolm’s Life demanding spring-clean tidiness, Malcolm’s command position has been evicted. He now has to retreat to a distant corner, the farthest point in the Hovel from his wi-fi source.
That works, up to a point. Then the Pert Young Piece signed herself up for on-demand movies, delivered, of course, through wi-fi.
Worse still: the Lady in Malcolm’s Life has just acquired a new Mac Mini, and a 22-inch monitor. Very nice, too. Except that this requires long hours of “catching up” with numerous TV dramas, all delivered to the Point of her Presence by … that same cable modem and wi-fi link.
Since the Hovel currently houses two Mac set-ups, three lap-tops, three iPads (one each of those latter two disappear transAtlantic this weekend) even a 60Mb Virginmedia link is a bit stretched.
The matter is further complicated by the way the Norf Lunnun bourgeoises have all discovered wi-fi. As Malcolm sits here he can count at least a dozen other wi-fi set-ups intruding onto his personal space.
Result: at some points of the day reception deteriorates through the intolerable to the impossible, from the frustrating to the futile.
There’s yet more grief.
Why is it that the Bluetooth signal from next door shows up as “not connected” while the trackpad, inches from the Mac, doesn’t raise even a peep?