A spate of messages, a fix costing nothing

It's been very nearly six months since I drove away Sophie, my second-hand Volvo XC60 with the prized-but-no-longer-made five-cylinder (D5) diesel engine, and R-Design embellishments, from Caffyns Volvo Eastbourne. That was on 27th October, after the purchasing formalities were complete. How quickly time passes! And how well she has served me since. If I'm honest, better than my beloved Fiona could have done. 

If you are a new reader, and not familiar with the Fiona Saga, she was a top-of-the-range Volvo XC60 SE Lux (with that important D5 engine for caravanning) that I ordered from the Volvo factory in January 2010. The XC60 models had been introduced in 2008, and by 2010 most of the inevitable teething troubles had been sorted out. It was the right time to buy. The particular specification I put together bumped the price up to £41,000, but I got the benefit of a standard £5,000 no-quibble trade-in from Volvo on my ageing Honda CR-V, plus the government's Scrappage Scheme contribution, which together brought the cost down to £34,000. And I had the cash - an inheritance from my uncle, Mum's brother. The facts that I'd effectively 'given birth' to Fiona, and that she always had that family link, made her very special. And she served me well and faithfully, for thirteen years and 194,000 miles, looking good to the end of our acquaintance. A car to be proud of. A car to love.

But Fiona was never a cheap car to run. And after the first five years, I bore the cost of a series of expensive component replacements. I had expected a lot from Fiona. Too much. I drove her pretty hard. I wore bits of her out before their proper time. I promised myself that I would not do the same with her successor, Sophie. 

So when Sophie stepped into Fiona's shoes, I was deliberately gentle and restrained with her. The reward has been significantly better fuel consumption, and no mechanical trouble whatever. That is still the case. 

But recently a spate of warning instrument-panel messages began, about things failing and needing a service at a Volvo dealer. 

They began as I drove westwards through a fierce rainstorm on the A303 near Wincanton, on my way down to Lyme Regis with the caravan in tow. The rain battering the car actually turned to hail for a while. I slowed to a safe speed, and as I did so the messages began to show. I was warned about ABS failure, stability control failure, and low tyre pressure. Scary stuff! And yet the handling of the car was unaffected, and an inspection of the tyres at the next layby showing nothing to be concerned about. These messages disappeared when I next fired up the engine, and briefly reappeared only once more during my West Country holiday. But they returned - apparently permanently - during the journey home, and were joined by two new warning messages connected with braking ability. And yet there was nothing amiss with the braking. Were they all spurious? 

Spurious or not, it was time to let Caffyns have a look. So four days ago I took Sophie down to Eastbourne for a diagnostic check. 

It turned out that the rear ABS sensor had packed in after 65,000 miles, and was the sole author of all these messages. Volvo had clearly found a way of basing several safely systems on a single sensor, with the drawback that if that sensor became wayward it generated a multiplicity of false warnings. So some relief: there was a single, easily-dealt-with cause. The next step, which could be put in hand at once - while I waited - was to physically replace the errant sensor. The cost would be over £300. Ah, I said, wasn't this covered by the Volvo Selekt used car warranty? Indeed it was. Caffyns rapidly cleared the matter with Volvo HQ, and the technician installed a new sensor. I watched him through the giant window at the Eastbourne dealership. While waiting, I examined the Warranty - I had a copy of the pdf on my phone - and confirmed that it had another six months to run. That was reassuring. It might not be needed again, but who knows. I was covered. (I'd ensure that the next annual service and MOT took place before the Warranty expired)

But what a good outcome meanwhile. A new sensor for nothing. And the messages had vanished. I'm now all set for a carefree summer of motoring - and caravan towing.

It was interesting to consider my personal reaction to this experience. The messages were worrying, but I took them calmly throughout. I didn't panic. I didn't cry. With Fiona I might have wobbled quite a bit, for anything that had ever struck at Fiona had struck at my heart, as if she were my child. With Sophie I was much more detached: dare I say it, more adult. 

It wasn't that I didn't care about Sophie: we had bonded, as we were bound to do when you think how car-based and car-reliant my life is. I'd transferred my car-loyalty to her. But Sophie was essentially a Fiona-lookalike, a grey replacement bought in a hurry. And not with my own cash but on HP - she wouldn't even be legally mine until the three-year finance deal had run its course. There was no family association at all. Although likeable and good to drive, she was simply a used car with a largely unknown past, not one I'd had made for me, and had nurtured from new. As soon as feasible she would be replaced with a newer Volvo, probably an all-electric one. Sophie was a stopgap car. So yes, I could be perfectly cool and detached, clinical even. 

But you know, I was still pleased that despite a bad winter, and challenging driving conditions endured again and again, including sticky mud, only one sensor had gone wrong. Everything else was working fine. That said something about Sophie's innate quality. 

Sophie was first registered in April 2016, so is now eight years old. She barely looks it, thanks to a careful previous owner, an equally careful present owner, and low mileage - currently still only 65,500 when it 'ought' to be 80,000 or more. At the same eight year mark, Fiona had covered 132,500 miles, more than double. With of course corresponding accelerated wear and tear. So I do have good grounds for thinking that with ongoing care and consideration, Sophie could last me a long time, and not cost me nearly so much.

Readers, I am in fact starting to believe that there might be a Sophie Saga. Of epic length. Watch out.

Unwanted sophistication

I have composed this post on my laptop using Notepad, an old-time Windows utility that allows you to type only in plain text. No fancy stuff such as bold and italics! But plain text is all I need for an initial version of what I shall later polish up when online. So I've copied-and-pasted the text from Notepad into this new post on Blogger, and now I can add photos and other things if required, correct my typos, and generally improve the post so that it reads well and looks right. 

Notepad has served me very well over the years. Its overwhelming virtue is that it's so simple. But that will be its downfall.

That other straightforward old-time Windows utility, Paint, came under threat a few years back. Microsoft had created a newer substitute that it felt more appropriate to modern times, and Paint appeared to be doomed. But users worldwide protested, and Paint was reprieved. I've always had a specific use for Paint, for processing laptop screenshots, so I'm glad that Microsoft listened and did the right thing. But I doubt whether the company really learned the key lesson from that episode: that easy-to-use, uncomplicated programs are needed just as much as sophisticated ones. 

I am therefore pretty sure that Notepad also has a suspended sentence of death hanging over it. But long may it live. 

It's obvious why software companies strive to improve their products. They want to convince users that theirs is the current best for the purpose in question, and worth a serious investment - nowadays most likely an expensive subscription instead of a one-off payment. In the case of photographic software, very much in my personal world, Adobe's suite of editing programs is a case in point. Who hasn't heard of Photoshop? Or Lightroom? But neither is a freebie. Both require an ongoing subscription of such size that only those who make their living from photography, or want to use incredibly capable programs for their work, will pay the price. Using such software may be one of those badges, like sporting an impressive camera, especially one on a tripod, that separate lightweight dabblers from 'committed enthusiasts and professionals'.

I won't play that game. I get along very well with Nikon's NX Studio as my photo-processing workhorse, which is available to download at no cost at all. I also still use Nikon's Capture NX2, bought for a one-off £125 in August 2008, for more specialised edits: it's a bit old-school, but it still works perfectly in 2024. And I have uses for the bog-standard Windows Photos program that Microsoft throws in for nothing. This triumvirate is quite enough for my personal needs, although I dare say that Lightroom users - most serious shooters say they use Lightroom - will laugh at my faithfulness to these three alternative (and possibly uncool) programs. Yes, they are relatively basic, but that makes them quick and easy to use. I am looking only to correct minor defects in the pictures I took, as I want to preserve the character and mood of the scene or subject as I saw it, rather than introduce something that wasn't there at the time. Certainly not to process the shot to death. Together my three programs - Nikon NX Studio mostly - deal very efficiently with the 20,000+ pictures I take each year. So, weighing effectiveness against cost, I feel my approach is a good one. 

Back to Notepad and Paint, and programs like them. I don't think they will survive too much longer. Microsoft will at some stage declare them stone-age and incompatible with the latest version of Windows, or finally impose replacements that employ AI in some gimmicky way. It will do this because that's Microsoft is apt to do, regardless of users' preferences. We are supposed to embrace every trendy idea.

I see the colourful icon for Copilot at the bottom right of my laptop screen every time I fire Verity up. I used Copilot to create three silly experimental pictures when it first appeared, but not since. There's been no reason to use it for making images. I'm not a 'creator'. I dare say I constantly use AI without being conscious of it - for example when searching for things on Google. But where pictures are concerned, I prefer to respect and work with the scene as I found it, using only my own eye for a good composition, and the camera. And as regards blog posts, only my personal aptitude as a writer. 

Otherwise, these favourite activities are reduced to giving a few voice commands to my laptop, which would then trawl the Internet for other people's snaps and screeds, and make a pastiche of those.  Minimal personal effort or input, nothing authentic or truthful or genuinely original about the result, and nil satisfaction. 

Progress? Sophistication? Ha.

Fixing it

I'm with OVO Energy for my electricity and gas supply. Not from deliberate choice, but because back in November 2022 they absorbed SSE and I automatically became a customer of theirs. I'd already come off SSE's 2 Year fixed plan back in December 2021, moving to their standard variable tariff. This continued with OVO Energy. 

I wasn't especially keen on OVO, but after some kerfuffle I got the credit I'd built up with SSE transferred, and OVO gave me sufficient control over how much my monthly direct debit should be to make me feel content. 

Things have settled down since those first months with OVO. I've remained on their standard variable tariff, with all its ups and downs and dependence on Ofgem's price capping. The energy supply issues that rocked the market over the last couple of years have eased, and some further electricity and gas unit price reductions are expected in the summer and autumn. That said, I notice that as the unit price goes down, OVO increases its daily standing charge a bit. Doubtless to maintain profit levels. Overall, one does get a monthly cost reduction, but it isn't spectacular. In the longer term, common sense suggests that electricity and gas prices will show at least normal increases, such is the constant demand for more and more energy. And of course, ongoing trouble in the Middle East and elsewhere, affecting supply routes and spooking the market, may very rapidly drive up energy costs again. 

Another factor personal to myself is that until October 2026 I am paying almost £600 a month on Sophie's car purchase plan (HP by any other name). I need to ensure that, so far as possible, my finances remain stable and predictable, so that meeting this major commitment isn't put at risk. 

So recently I've been alert to energy cost fixes. And OVO have now emailed me about their current fixed deals. There are several. One of them, their 2 Year Fixed plan, looks attractive enough to seriously consider. 

My account with OVO runs from April each year, and I've just started the 2024/25 year paying £136 a month for electricity and gas, which on present estimates will get me to April 2025 with a small surplus. That's on OVO's standard variable tariff, which can change. Ofgem's future interventions may easily turn that small surplus into a rather large one. Maybe! But I want certainty. So today I've signed up for that 2 Year Fixed plan. The opening direct debit payments will start at the same £136 per month. I'll miss out on the expected summer or autumn price reductions; but unless my electricity and gas consumption at home radically alters, I won't be paying more until April 2026.

It's a gamble. Who knows, remaining on OVO's standard variable tariff might well have saved me money. 

On the other hand, I am now protected from any price hikes for two years ahead, and I feel those are all too likely, given the state of the world. Peace of mind and freedom from worry does have a real and substantial value. I think it's well worth avoiding energy-price anxiety if the monthly cost seems reasonable and affordable. 

I looked up what I was paying SSE for my electricity and gas in 2020, before energy prices rose dramatically. I was on another 2 Year Fixed deal, and it was costing me £115 a month. That was based on what was 'normal' pricing back in 2019, when the plan began. 

So £115 then, and now £136 in 2024. The 2024 monthly cost is 18% higher, certainly more than simple inflation would have brought about. But not outrageously higher. I'm OK with it. 

Defeated by mud - again!

The follow-up to my last post will have to wait. I'm on holiday now.

Strictly speaking, this is my second caravan holiday of 2024, as I had a few days near Wareham in East Dorset in January, primarily to see a friend who had moved to the area. But this is the first of my regular trips. Once again, seeing that friend was a prime aim of coming to my usual farm site near Lyme Regis in West Dorset, but I was also going to do all the usual things, and generally enjoy getting out and around. But it hasn't worked out quite that way: poor weather has compromised this leg of my West Country holiday. 

I should have postponed or cancelled. It had after all been a very wet March. Such a contrast with some previous years! In 2012, for instance, March in this part of the country was gloriously warm and sunny. But of course, climate change has bitten, and damper, cloudier, rainier weather has prevailed. I didn't want to let my friend down, so I kept to plan. 

It looked like a good omen when I got away from Sussex in dry sunshine. And although there were a few showers (wintry at one point) on the way, I arrived here in sunshine. But I noted that the ground on this farm site was a little soft. Even so, Sophie manoeuvred the caravan into position without trouble. 

Overnight came a deluge. Next morning, setting off for a long day out in Exeter, Sophie slithered a bit on the grassy track from caravan to the site gate. This was despite four-wheel drive and good tyres. Hmm! Well, perhaps it would dry out over the next few hours. I went first to Sidmouth, then parked at Exmouth and caught the train into Exeter. It was at first cloudy, but with the sun peeking through often enough. But while at Exeter the heavens opened. Absolutely torrential rain. I hoped rain like it wasn't falling back at the farm!

Returning in late afternoon, I learned that the deluge had made the ground much softer. It was in fact saturated. You couldn't tell by just by looking at the grass, although there were puddles here and there that gave a clue. I pointed Sophie away from them, and drove forwards onto what seemed to be better ground. But all that happened was that my car dug herself into a pair of muddy ruts. She made a sorry sight!

There was nothing to be done but trek down to the farmhouse and get help, donning the wellies I keep in the caravan on the way. 

This had happened before, in March 2018, when I arrived at the farm towing the caravan. Colin the farmer had pulled car and caravan off with his tractor. It was only my car this time. Fortunately Colin had seen my plight, and soon drew Sophie backwards onto firm ground. I was then able to park her at the farmhouse. She was somewhat mud-spattered, but I washed it all off before settling down in the caravan for the evening.  Here's a next-day shot.

Not a great start to this part of my West Country holiday. Going anywhere has involved a muddy tramp to Sophie, changing footwear before driving off - I've had to put all the shoes and boots I am likely to wear in the car - and then the reverse procedure when coming back later. It's easily doable, of course it is, but an unwelcome palaver all the same. 

Worryingly, the ground isn't drying out as fast as I would like, and I'm expecting that three days ahead, when I must journey onwards to North Devon, and with more heavy rain forecast, the ground will have softened up again and I won't be able to pull the caravan off, at least not with Sophie. Colin has a pickup truck that will do the trick - or if necessary he can use the tractor, as he did in 2018. As this shot shows.

So this isn't an insurmountable problem.  

Nevertheless, it's all such a shame, because I'd hoped for decent weather here. And especially so, because Colin's wife Jackie has told me that he wants to retire, and they intend to sell up in 2024. The farm is going on the market shortly, and although they will continue to accept caravan bookings throughout the summer, they are closing the caravan site from 1st September. I would ordinarily have booked a week with them sometime during September, but now I can't. 

This visit in March will therefore be my last. I first came here (with M---) in 2004. Then, after a five-year gap, I came every year from 2009, most often twice a year. Twenty-seven visits in all. What a pity that the very last one has been made less than perfect by mud! 

I shall miss coming here. More: I'll need to find a substitute site in the area to pitch the caravan on. The best of these seems to be a Caravan Club main site the other side of Sidmouth, at Putts Corner. It's much closer to Honiton, Sidmouth, Exmouth and Exeter, but it will still allow me to visit magical Lyme Regis if I want to. 

And perhaps it's time to radically change how I do the West Country - especially if the other farm site I go to near Great Torrington also announces that they are selling. Change is sometimes upsetting, but it can also be stimulating: and certainly a chance to try new places. So I'm philosophical. 

Southampton's Floating Bridge

You can't go and see this one - it was replaced by the Itchen Bridge in 1977. But I took some farewell pictures in May that year, which I hope will stir fond memories in the mind of anyone who lived in Southampton at the time. For the Floating Bridge was iconic, one of the city's 'sights', apart from being much used to get from one shore to another, there being a dearth of crossing-points on the River Itchen that commuters could use.

I caught it at sunset, with the new Itchen Bridge nearing completion in the background. I drove my car at the time (a pale yellow Renault 12TL, registration JYF 844K) onto the Floating Bridge, with a friend as my passenger. She must have thought me bonkers to take pictures of something most people took completely for granted. The Floating Bridge was, to most Sotonians, as nondescript as a corporation bus. It was just an old-fashioned part of the city's infrastructure, and while not neglected, was a workaday facility that clanked to and fro across the river all day and most of the evening. It was odd to use up expensive film taking pictures of it. Bucking the attitudes of 1977, I thought otherwise. That's why I have these pictures, originally taken on Kodachrome transparency film, which certainly did cost a fair bit, and wasn't to be squandered on 'ordinary' subjects. My only regret is that I didn't possess a better camera.

See what you think.

As you can see, there were in fact two floating platforms for cars and bikes. Foot passengers sheltered in the covered side areas, where there were seats. Buses couldn't be carried, so there was a small bus terminus on each side of the river, to take passengers onward. Note the naval vessel being serviced on the Woolston side. And off to the left, the new Itchen Bridge, not yet opened, but already kitted out with street lights. We were waiting to board on the city centre side, intending to travel west-east to Woolston.

Each part of the bridge shuttled noisily between slipways, hauling itself along by chains laid across the river. 

That pale yellow car in the centre of the shot was mine. As you can see, not very many cars could be taken in one go.

The passenger accommodation, on the other hand, was generous. I imagine the Floating Bridge was built to convey mainly foot or bicycle-riding workers to one or other of the riverside shipbuilding or marine servicing businesses, long before the days of mass car ownership. So by 1977 it was, if not an anachronism, then at any rate inadequate for modern needs.

Now we had disembarked on the Woolston side, and were looking back towards the city centre. It was possible to drive almost onto the bridge, to see how near it was to being finished.

There you are. Not only street lights erected: the roadway was tarmacked, and the white lane lines had been painted on it. The new bridge was opened less than two months later, in July 1977, and the Floating Bridge became redundant.

I can't remember my precise motivation for taking these shots, but I'm very glad I did. No doubt many other Southampton residents intended to make a trip down to the Floating Bridge and get their own souvenir pictures, but I wonder how many actually found the time. It's often the case, isn't it, that one's intentions get thwarted, or something more important stops one carrying through a plan, and then the opportunity is gone forever. 

Recently, in fact on the last day of February, I went back to take a look at the Itchen Bridge in 2024, forty-seven years after it was built. It was a rainy day, and rather blustery at times too. No lovely sunset this time! 

I parked Sophie near Woolston station, and walked about, trying to recall how it had all once looked. I couldn't: so much had changed. The vicinity of the old slipway had been drastically altered by new building. That wasn't unexpected, but I couldn't fix on anything that might conjure up how it had been in May 1977, except of course the road bridge itself. I found a memorial to the old Floating Bridge though, at the entrance to a long-established riverside residential development.

There was no plaque. Younger people now living in Woolston must wonder what this commemorates!

The Itchen Bridge soared overhead, looking rather grimy. I thought I was probably trespassing, but I ventured onto the development to get a couple of shots, and see what the riverside now looked like at ground level.

The city centre skyline had changed a bit, but the immediate riverside even more so. It had lost its 'industrial' look, and the accent was on blocks of flats. Next, I climbed the steps up to the bridge itself. It had been a toll bridge from the beginning, but the manned toll booths had been mostly replaced by 'throw the money into the basket' receptacles at the barriers. I noted that double-decker buses used the bridge. Not the red-and-cream corporation buses proudly run by the city council in 1977: blue Bluestar buses, with different route numbers. 

I walked out onto the bridge, as far as its highest point in the centre. It seemed very high up, and I'm not happy at any kind of height, and the persistent wind and rain was very discouraging. But I wanted to see, and however daft it might look to passing cars and other people on foot, I wanted some photographs. The first shots look upriver.

Hmm. Largely given over to a marina, and various types of residential accommodation. The white structure (right edge) must be the St Mary's football stadium. I'm pretty sure there was a gasworks there once.

Downriver, it was much the same. Not much evidence of shipbuilding left! Only in the distance were there signs that Southampton remained a port for ocean-going ships.

By now I was getting rather soaked by the rain, and was feeling foolish for attempting pictures in such weather, and in such an uninspring location. But I did go as far as the centre point before turning back.

At the centre, the bridge was far above the river, and those safety-railings were none too high. It crossed my mind that leaning over to get a shot was not only scary, but might be misinterpreted. The bridge must be a magnet for anyone with suicide on their mind, especially on a dull, rainy day in late winter. I decided to put the camera away, and look like somebody thinking only cheerful thoughts. And indeed, I was by now looking forward to the warmth and dryness Sophie had to offer. 

It was no great surprise to pass things to make would-be suicides pause, and not carry through any plan to jump off the bridge:

It seems that life in Southampton can get unbearable for some. But then that must be true anywhere, if you have reached a dead end, or are too oppressed, and simply can't go on. Peace and contentment are not automatic, and not guaranteed. It must take a very special person (at, say, The Samaritans) to listen patiently and carefully to someone at the end of their tether, and by doing so bring them back from the brink. At Beachy Head, another high spot where people can throw themselves into oblivion, there is a proper 24/7 chaplaincy - housed in a permanent building, and complete with an official car, prominently marked - whose staff constantly look out for anyone contemplating suicide. I suppose there are certain tell-tale signs to watch for, and if they see them, they can make an approach. 

On reflection, I suppose potential suicides would never think of carrying a camera, and getting in a few shots, before doing the deed. So I was probably not actually in danger of being accosted by a concerned rescue team, or the police, as a person at risk. Even so, I'd hate to think I had been noticed and reported by passing cars or buses, and they had turned out, only to find me already gone. 

While up on the bridge I tried to see vestiges of the old Floating Bridge. Perhaps the former slipways were still there, but I couldn't tell. Redevelopment had almost totally obliterated what once had been. Southampton's Floating Bridge had receded into history.

This was not the only 'floating bridge' in my Photo Archive. I'll write a post about some others in the next post.

5G comes to my village

Since its launch some while back, 5G has been making steady progress. I see that 5G coverage with EE (my mobile phone service provider) has now reached the point where every city and most towns in the land can get it. Various country areas can as well, some of them rural tracts of no great population. Presumably this is to fill in the 'not spots' in the 4G network, so that if one's local 4G service is weak or non-existent, there is now the chance of 5G instead.

In my village - my part of it, anyway - I would have described the 4G service as 'quite good, but occasionally fading to poor'. It seems to depend on the weather: rainy conditions have generally meant a problematic 4G service. It also depends on the sensitivity of one's mobile phone. I'm finding that my larger, more powerful (and of course completely up-to-date) Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra can instantly grab a 4G signal in most parts of my house, which wasn't necessarily the case with my previous phone, a Samsung Galaxy S20+.

A good mobile phone service matters. Modern living demands good, reliable communications and, in particular, access to the Internet with one's phone. For the last four years I have relied completely on 4G to connect me to the Internet at home. It was early in 2020 when the broadband service I was subscribing to - then provided by BT - was cut off after heavy rain ruined the wiring and other equipment in a green roadside cabinet. It took a lot longer than a few days to fix. I contacted BT and they gave me a massive temporary increase in my 4G data allowance, so that I could get the Internet on my mobile phone without worrying about running out of paid-for data. 

They gave me 100GB for £25 a month, although I only paid £20 because of a £5 discount for having my broadband from BT. I made good use of that enhanced data allowance, and discovered that most of the time 4G was all I needed. I'd been a light broadband user: I was the only one in the house, and I didn't stream TV much, nor films, nor was I a gamer. The heaviest call on that 4G-based Internet was when -tethering the laptop to the phone - I uploaded photos to Flickr, composed photo-rich blog posts, or downloaded Windows updates. 

Essentially this was how it was when away in the caravan. I could usually do whatever I needed to when pitched in a farmer's field: why not then at home as well? Why pay for expensive broadband, when 4G was good enough for my usage? Suddenly it seemed daft to pay for two Internet services, especially as being away from home so much meant that I couldn't get full value from the broadband. Later in 2020 I cut my broadband contract and had my landline disconnected, intending henceforth to go completely wireless. 

I was conscious that it was something of a gamble. Would the local 4G signal remain adequate? Would my village ever get upgraded to 5G? On the other hand, I'd be saving around £30 a month. And there were things I could do to improve 4G reception in the house, such as buying a powered aerial/router for a window sill (which I could use in the caravan too), or even having a an external aerial fixed to the chimney. 

Well, four years later the wireless-only gamble has worked out fine. My next door neighbours have been kind enough to let me tap into their unlimited broadband whenever I need to - there are occasional 4G outages - so I have an emergency Internet source. A privilege I don't abuse. Otherwise, I just use 4G, which has been good enough for watching the odd TV programme on my tethered laptop - even more so since upgrading to my S24 Ultra. 

But to make the experiment a complete success, I needed 5G. 

Well, a week ago EE sent a message to tell me that they wanted to carry out 'maintenance' at the local installation. Uh-oh. That probably meant several days without a 4G service. I was right. Initially they spoke soothingly of only a sixteen-hour outage. But it grew. Then they spoke of 'improvements'. Huh. That meant new equipment, and more delay for installation and testing. Still, EE might be boosting the 4G service. It turned out to be something better. 

Yesterday, early in the evening, and sitting in my lounge at home, I glanced at my phone and saw something I'd only seen when visiting large towns: the 4G symbol had been replaced by the one for 5G! 

Wow. At last. 5G here.

Granted, it was only a moderate 5G signal - I'm near the edge of the village - but this was something I hadn't really expected to see for several years yet. It meant that I would definitely never need to consider reconnecting/upgrading my landline and reinstalling broadband, and I could permanently keep my £30 a month saving (it's probably more now).

So the latest outage was worth enduring.

Is there a downside? I can't see one. If bad weather makes the 5G service wane, it defaults to 4G, which has been - as I said - adequate for most of the time.

I thought about whether it was a possible drawback not to have a modern fibre landline connected to the house. If I ever had to sell the house, the lack of a fibre landline might put off a potential buyer. Or would it? In any case (a) I have no plans to move, unless climate change forces me to (I'm thinking of unbearably hot summers); and (b) I could always pay to have the very latest type of installation as part of a pre-marketing decision. 

Meanwhile, I've got 160GB of data every month for £26.98, the new price after the annual hike. My old SIM-only contract with EE expired a long time ago, but I've let things run forward on a rolling basis. It's a lot of data for a reasonable monthly cost, and (importantly) it's supplied at EE's very best speed. I expect that one day they will ask me to move to a proper new contract with them, or leave. But until they do, I'm going to enjoy what I have.