Ooer, it’s the Ring of Death
Oh the weeping and wailing, the gnashing (or should that be ganaching? Mmmm… ganache…) of teeth, the tantrums, the moaning, the groaning, the unfairness of it all. The house has been reverberating to the sound of near-teenage unhappiness for a good 48 hours now. All the ceilings have new cracks due to excessive upstairs stamping and hormonal stropping about. Every door has been slammed, every request is met with melodramatic sighing and shrugging, and melancholy hangs about the eaves of English Towers like a bad smell (mind you, that could be Bert).
And the source of all these histrionics? The font of our misery? The X-Box has broken. Oh yes, the small grey and white, addictive little electronic babysitter has fought its last fight, taken its last Daytona corner… zapped its last alien, if you would.
Oh, I did my bit. I placated, I fiddled with wires (let’s hope nobody tells him I don’t know what the hell I’m doing), I jiggled HD leads (whatever they are) and turned it off and on again. I phoned Hubby, received telephone instructions, jiggled more wires… And do you know what? He was right. It was broken.
Doing my motherly bit, then (and nothing at all to do with the fact that I’m considering echoing several lifestyle choices in the animal kingdom and eating my firstborn child) I popped in to PC World and a polite enquiry quickly got me pointed in the direction of TechGuy (no really, that’s his title). TechGuy had that ‘Comic Book Guy’ air of grown up geek about him (unkempt, slightly mad hair, wonky glasses), but seemed friendly enough, so I pressed on with the symptoms: overheating, cutting out, and finally, conking out completely showing just a red ring around the on/off button… TechGuy nodded sagely and a knowing smile crossed his shiny face: ‘ahhh yes’, he said knowledgably, pausing for dramatic effect before adding ‘you’ve got the ring of death’. ‘Oh, so nothing drastic then?’. Missing my stab at humour, TechGuy hurried to assure me that on the contrary the ‘ring of death’ is, as the name would suggest, completely fatal to the X-Box. Happily, though, it’s apparently a known fault and a phone call to Microsoft would herald a UPS courier to whip away the minger and return us a fresh one within two weeks.
Off I toddled home, then, and a quick chat with a very chummy chap at Microsoft (‘ahhh yes, the ring of death…’) confirmed that we are, indeed, entitled to have the offending article removed and a spanking new replacement delivered. So that’s that, then. #1 waits every day for the courier, his little nose squished happily against the window (in the meantime they’ve organised a hostile takeover of Hubby’s PS3 – potential trouble brewing there) and contentment and equilibrium have returned once again to English Towers. Mind you, that bad smell’s still hanging about…
14 Responses to “Ooer, it’s the Ring of Death”
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It’s scary how fast they form those addictions though. Sir Sprout is absolutely convinced that TV is the God Of Baby Entertainment descended from heavens and weeps bitter tears (along with throwing fierce tantrums) if we refuse to put it on.
I shudder to think what will happen when he cops on that Daddy has a PS2.
Foreigner: Different ages, different problems! I remember how teeth grittingly annoying #1 used to be when he insisted that the only person allowed to put on his shoes was his grandmother. He’d hurl himself to the floor and wiggle like a little eel if I tried to do it. Oh yes, and then some helpful aunt or grandparent will buy him a Nintendo DS and it’s all downhill from there. Boys and their toys eh?
PRECISELY.
I urge you all to purchase cattle prods (the electric kind) as it’s the only way to successfully ‘encourage’ the little stinkers into the shower.
And my mother assured me that boys are easier!! Bah!
Ooooooooh look at me I’m blog of the week!!! Ooooooooh!!!
**jumps up and down again, then stops**
And up Cavan!
Moon: Not only are you the only man on earth that washes up and puts away, you’re obviously also the only man on earth that doesn’t do 9 hours straight on Mario Galaxy when it first comes out.
Bugs: Precisely. What’s wrong with your brother? He’s turned into Grandad Grumps. He needs a nice long visit from his cousin’s children.
Oh, and fire bellied toads? What, are they pets, like?
TMcD: Welcome!! Yes, after a long session reading your entire blog (until I finished the Merlot and became too befuddled) I created a new category just for you. Oh, and you’re blog of the week-and-a-half ‘cos I only created it last Thursday. Congrats, Hallmark Cards and a lukewarm bottle of Babycham xx
YAY for one awesome mom though!
Sleepy: Aye, ’tis killing him waiting for the bloody thing to come back. Oh, and it turns out he left a disk in there, which I’m pretty sure he won’t see again. And it was Pro-Street as well. Bummer.