A failure to connect

Covering cricket is certainly not a hardship and this tour has been especially enjoyable to follow. However, there are still moments that leave you cursing. Such as when you can’t find any internet access just as you have two pieces to file.

The final day of a Test is often hectic because all the issues from the game are wrapped up, but at Newlands it was extra busy courtesy of England’s latest great escape. Does Graham Onions know how much extra work he creates?

With two stories written and filed I decided to finish the day’s work back at the hotel rather than sit on my lonesome in the Cape Town press box. That idea was fine, it had worked on previous days, so I packed up and headed back to my room which was only a 10-minute walk from the ground.

Got there, unpacked the laptop and turned it on. Searched for the wireless – there it was, not very powerful but usable – and went to connect. Then the fun started. I paid for the connection period I needed and got my log-in number only for the server to tell me it couldn’t register me. Maybe I’d put the number in wrong? Tried again, nope. OK, this wasn’t looking good.

I tried two more times. Still nothing, so I got on the phone to the help desk. “Yes sir,” said the helpful man, “we have a problem with some hardware and the servers are down. They might not be up until the morning.”

Wonderful, surely they could have said that on the website before I paid for access. But saved the rant for later. Still had to file. Remembered the hotel had one internet kiosk on the first floor so saved my pieces onto a flash drive and high-tailed it down there. It was free, phew.

Then realised that the voucher I’d bought for wireless access wouldn't work in the kiosk. Had to pay again, but at least it worked. Surely I was home free? Of course I wasn’t. Went to open my email account and a screen flashed up: “Access restricted due to unsuitable content." It had clearly read my work. Tried again, but this computer was having none of it. Fortunately I have a few email addresses and the machine allow me into another account.

Meanwhile someone else popped their head in to see if the machine was free. “Ten minutes,” I said. Wishful thinking.

Grabbed the saved documents and pasted them into the email. All I had to do now was click send and it should be sorted. “Server not found.” You must be kidding me. The clock telling me how much time I had left read five minutes. I was on the verge of dictating this stuff over the phone which, from experiences in West Indies, can be a painful exercise for those on both ends of the conversation.

At times like this violence is often an option. Give the computer a kick, slam the keyboard down and resort to foul language. But the computer wasn’t mine and I was in a public place. I calmly (honest) opened another email, pasted the text in and crossed both fingers and toes.

Send. Wait. The ‘loading bar’ at the bottom of the screen gets a third full, then half, before finally a moment to savour. “Your email has been successfully sent.” Hurray. The timer said two and a half minutes. Just enough time to check the pieces had been received in London. They had. Job done.

Was all the running around worth it? I guess that’s for everyone else to decide.