When I was a kid, I used to help my Dad fix the TV. It entailed crouching in front of the box, holding a mirror, while Dad fiddled with the back of the TV and yelled instructions in my direction.
Today, I am a Dad.
Our 9-year old TV died today just as Tom turned on Power and Politics. I high-tailed it up to London Drugs, planning to discuss various TV options before going to a real TV store across the street to ask the very same questions. Forty minutes later, I left London Drugs with a new TV, a HD cable box, and an HDMI (?) connector. An hour later, after emptying all the boxes, giving cursory glances at the instructions, having Shaw Cable boot, re-boot, re-re-boot and re-re-re-boot the cable box, we have TV!
My Dad would be proud.
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