What time is it?

So it’s ridiculous o’ clock on a Saturday morning, and rather than having a nice lie-in, I’m up, awake, and nursing a coffee.
The reason for this is not that I’m one of those infuriating “morning people” who jog before breakfast and can function drug free as soon as the sun comes up, because I’m most definitely not (the fact that I called them infuriating should have been a clue). I need to consume at least my bodyweight in coffee before I can form a simple sentence, by which time Sophie Raworth is usually halfway through reading the Lunchtime news.
The reason I’m up is that my ageing cable box is due to be replaced by a shiny new TiVo one by the lovely people at Virgin Media this morning. I work weekdays, and would actually like to do something this afternoon, so I foolishly booked a Saturday morning installation. The outcome of this is that I now have to wait around, indoors, clock-watching, terrified to leave the flat in case the dude rocks up, rings the doorbell, and buggers off again whilst I’m getting a pint of milk from the Co-Op.
So the streets are quiet and I’m afraid to go outside. It’s like the zombie apocalypse, except, because I’ve only had half a cup of coffee so far, I’m the zombie. The only other difference is that at the end of Dawn of the Dead, no-one got a TiVo box.
TiVo, incidentally, is also the name of the ancient pagan god of television. Seriously. It is written in the very first edition of the Radio Times, chiselled on to stone and guarded by druids:
And I am TiVo, god of television, which shall be invented aeons hence,
And I decree that every person shalt pay promptly and by direct debit their license fee,
And hoggeth not the remote, nor complain that there’s never anything on.

And if thou wilt do these things I shall be happy and smile upon thee,
And thine sports channels shall be in high def,
And thine regular schedule shall bear the shows of Jools Holland and Stephen Fry.

And a terrible fate shall await those who defy me; thine EPGs shall be barren,
Thine remote batteries shall go flat, and thine signal shall be iffy at best,
And thou shalt be forced to suffer Jersey Shore for all eternity.
I definitely need more coffee…
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An update on Squidygate

It’s been a while since I’ve posted any updates on Squidygate. This is partly because very little has happened (maybe the kidnapper is running out of ideas?), but mainly because I’ve been way too busy with actual work. I know, it’s a shocking state of affairs.

I’ve had two more notes since the last update:

At least this confirms that Squidgy wasn’t brutally murdered.

This one, on the other hand, is just baffling. There are definitely no dolphins in the office. I checked.