K isn't feeling very well this morning, so I leave her in bed and reluctantly craft some disappointing sandwiches to take to work with me (they never taste as good when I know how little of my own effort went into their construction). I also have one last go at resetting the new Virgin box - sure that it might just work eventually. Well, it might. It's also slightly annoying in that I have to leave poor ill K in the house with no TV to watch, but then there are plenty of DVDs around.
Things take a turn for the better, though, when I call K later - as she's apparently brightened up enough to get on the blower to Virgin and, in her inimitable ball-busting style, managed to force them up off their arses long enough to send the correct bunch of signals "down the box" and that we now have a fully-working V+ HD box. This is great news, and I resolve never to turn it off again.
I get home later and K is snuggled up under a duvet on the sofa. Not keen to get too close to her germs (though, if I'm honest, I probably already have them) I snuggle up with her and we have fun learning how to program TV shows and films to record. When I'm done radiating joy over the idea that I've series-linked Match of the Day and what remains of Peep Show (I would never in a million years have been allowed to do so on my parents' Sky+ box back when I lived at home), we stick last night's penultimate Apprentice on. This is the always-entertaining interviews episode, which recalls every horrible interview anyone's ever had while allowing the viewer the delightful opportunity to watch previously-swaggering business-cocks squirm under intense pressure. It's a good one - and it sets up an intriguing final between Chris and Stella for Sunday night (which, yes, we have now set to record).
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