I'm currently trapped in BT Broadband call-centre Hell. Despite the appalling TV adverts with that annoying floppy-haired guy from 'My Family', I recently took the plunge and signed up for BT Home Broadband.

It's relatively inexpensive and is, I'm told, about as easy a wireless setup as one can buy (a particular consideration in multiplatform homes such as mine). Now, this may be true, but I have no way of confirming this, almost a week after my 'broadband' went live.

I got my Migration Away Code (MAC) and arranged delivery on Friday expecting to receive my BT Home Hub router on that day, at which point I'd 'migrate' from my previous ISP. (Generally speaking, I err toward the cynical in terms of 'delivery dates', but this was her majesty's BT, and it kept spamming me with texts telling me to be in to accept the delivery. So I complied.)

Now here's the thing: during the order process, when asked if I wanted the equipment delivered to an address different to my home address, I said yes, and gave the address of PC Advisor towers. Why? Because it's a lot easier and cheaper to receive a parcel at the office than it is to take a day off work. And, dagnammit, I like it here.

But BT has a policy of not delivering consumer broadband kit to business addresses. An established, everyone-in-the-company-knows-about-it-and-will-repeat-it-parrot-fashion policy. Not, however, a policy that BT saw fit to inform me about. At any stage.

Now, I can understand why BT doesn't want to encourage businesses to use consumer broadband kit. And it's a perfectly fair policy. But it seems odd that BT neglected to mention this to me until I, now booted off the web for four days and in broadband limbo, went through three layers of screaming at innocent call-centre operatives. (Albeit innocent call-centre drones who expressed mild surprise that I was annoyed over the unpublished change of plan.)

Meanwhile, BT's faithful couriers spend four fruitless days valiantly attempting to deliver the router to my house, while I sat six miles away at work. Fuming.

(And while I am monumentally proud of the fact that we live in a multicultural society, I have spent - conservative estimate - four hours speaking to BT call-centre operatives in the past two days, and I have yet to speak to anyone with English nearly as good as mine. And I'm from Yorkshire. It doesn't help the blood pressure, nor the ability to solve the problem, although I haven't yet subscribed to the Daily Mail.)

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