But I would like to watch a bit of civilised television of an evening. There is no reception for SBS here. The reception for ABC is intermitent. Reception for upteen channels of commercial crap is, of course, excellent.
Satellite is an option. But I resent paying a load of money for a load of channels of Hollywood pap and Aussie Rules football that I would never watch.
Catch up is possible, although I have yet to set up any internet connection to any TV, and it may be a bit feeble. My internet is via mobile. I get 2 bars of 4G. Which is fine for work. But query if it will work to watch much TV.
Over the years I have paid a shedload of tax in the UK. I think I should be allowed to access BBC catch-up. But oh no.
Meanwhile, I am reading more. Which is good.
I would listen to podcasts, but some arsehole stole my Classic iPod some months ago. Unhappily, Apple no longer sell an iPod of sufficient capacity. Happily, the little shit omitted to steal my Kindle.
There are bumps in the night. But what I fear, having listened to what my neighbours say, is that the kangaroos will turn up one night and strip all my pot plants. They (my neighbours, that is) have their orange trees encased by steel fences. Kangaroos are all socialists. They do not trouble to protect their own property. What is yours is also theirs. They not actually that nice, as animals go, despite their pleasing look. When a kangaroo gets sick, its fellows promptly kill it. And they kill dogs, by sitting back on their tails and raking with their claws. Mrs Perdita Shripton ignores then, I am pleased to say.
Mates of mine say “Get a gun”. Hmm. Apart from anything else, what would you do with a dead kangaroo? A question in parallel with William Boyd’s recent novel The Inoccent. Not on the scale of Any Human Heart or Armadillo , but still a good read.
I would rather be in this lovely countryside now than in Berlin after the war, TV reception problems et al.