One of the marvellous things about having your own little corner of the internet is that it gives you the chance to “speak out” against people you feel have wronged you. Some choose to do this directly – “John Johnson, you are a shit!” – while others like to go down the passive aggressive route – “Some people who shall remain nameless are shits!” – which deludes the writer into believing that they are spitting feathers in a more civilised manner.

Neither tends to make for very interesting or dignified reading, which is why I generally avoid indulging in either. However, my recent experience with T-Mobile left me both dumbed and founded, so I’m going to break my own rule here.

Let me just say that this is pretty much for my own sanity, because it has been a lonely experience and if just one person can empathise with my pain then I shall feel that little bit more connected to the human race. T-Mobile won’t mind if I share this experience with you; “Life’s for Sharing”, remember.

(By the way, I agree with Louis CK when he rants about people’s phone moans. Obviously, mobile phones are not essential to life – but this is more about customer service and, like, the ability of huge, billion-pound companies to deliver what they say will. Um. OK, on with the whining.)

My diary begins, like so many before it, on Sunday 17th July 2011.

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