We had a power-cut on Sunday night. We were plunged into a technological dark age, deprived of luxuries, and forced to rely on LED camping/cycling lights, an ipod with an XMI mini-speaker, 3G internet and a myriad of candles.
|Tim realises the advantages of marrying an ex-goth*|
Whilst Twittering about the electricity-deprived sorry state of affairs (Crisis? Tweet about it first, then wonder what to do!), Tim spotted someone else complaining about a similar lack of electricity, so introduced himself. It only took a couple of tweets to establish that the other party lives next-door-but-one, though I don’t think we’ve ever actually met them. Nonetheless, Tim spent a happy evening chatting to them by candlelight, offering spare tea-lights, and there was even talk of setting up a virtual Neighbourhood Watch.
I’m sure there’s something ironic here.
*Well, I would have been a teenage goth if I had been allowed to dye my hair. Or buy my own clothes. Or had been at all interested in make-up. Realistically, all I did was wear a lot of black, had a candle collection and read poetry. Not that gothy, I’ll grant you, but by the Satanic Panic standards of the early nineties, this made me practically a witch.