We finally have our Astro service resumed in its full glory here, after several months of receiving nothing at all (and paying for this monthly.) The helpful technician who put it all to rights arrived to tell me how terrible Astro were, as if ensuring we wouldn't associate him with the vagaries of his employers. It turns out that he had to charge us for the new bits of cable and stuff required to get something on our telly since the originals had reached the end of their useful life and he knew full well that the company would have failed to properly explain this in advance of the visit even though that's the way they work. I can't say I enjoyed shelling out extra for the privilege of receiving a service I routinely pay for, but it was possible to see a kind of humour in just how badly Astro manage it all. No improvement at all after twenty-one years in the business, chortled the technician, and it was just about possible to join in.
And I forgot to mention a little bright spot on Friday's journey to this further place. When we arrived at the ARAB Café, in order to enjoy the cup that cheers and a couple of plates of Rachid's excellent roti bakar, there were two kids gleefully running around in their pyjamas. Parents taking out their children in their pyjamas in this fashion is a typical sight in these parts, a sort of unconscious symbol of a pleasantly ordinary, unthreatened way of life. It felt deeply sane to see it.
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