I have been getting weary of having to walk round the house, radio in hand, to find a stable reception point.  So, I thought I’d take the plunge and buy a digital radio.

It worked beautifully on the Western Ferry all the way to Dunoon.  Then it abruptly cut out and will not recieve a thing.  It seems digital radio only exists in Dunoon below the tide line.  How foolish of me to have thought otherwise.

21 thoughts on “folly”

  1. Pleas ask me first! Digital is all or nothing and it’s nothing west and north west of Alexandra Parade. Return for a refund?

  2. We have a similar problem. South of the M62 and north of the canal is ok.

    Could the canal and Dunoon be linked?

  3. We have no radio reception other than through sky or online, so we invested in a wi-fi broadband radio. It is brilliant and doesn’t require much tweaking to get it working.

  4. Graham, it is thankfully also an FM radio, so I will continue to use it as such for now.

    Freda, I should have realised you’d have bad reception since I always loose it there in my car. But I forget how much of Scotland gets cut off. I cannot imagine life without radio. Whatever did people do before the wifi option?

  5. We have reasonably good digital reception but it definitely depends where the radio sits. I would have thought there would have been similar reception between our houses. Perhaps I can try our radio later this week at yours and see if that works. Maureen

  6. Hmm. I think I might find being in a ‘black spot’ even harder than the thought that none of Dunoon gets digital.

    Odd the ways in which living in Dunoon shows me how American I really am (taking for granted the ubiquitous presence of radio, aubergines/eggplants, dentist appointments on demand, etc.)

  7. Kelvin, I can’t answer your question; but it did help me picture what people with no radio do. Imagine the mothers, gathered round the fire, sharing their outrage that people like you say things like that.

  8. I don’t find the picture of those mothers so hard to imagine.

    It is a terrible thought though. The only pictures in your head being drawn from your own imagination or the things that have passed in front of your own eyes.

    As though civilization has just passed you by.

  9. The ‘point of such a place’ is that the incredible scenery of hills, mountains and glens exist and that I choose to live among them and yes,they do disrupt and obstruct radio/tv/mobile phone signals. I can and do easily live with that.

  10. It has just occurred to me that the consequence of there being mothers huddled around the fire in such places is that they must be attempting to bring up children in places without wireless.

    This is a much more frightening thought. To choose such deprivation for oneself is one thing…

  11. Ah, but don’t forget the mud! I’m sure, where children are concerned, mud covers a multitude of sins.

  12. Children do well in places with forest, rough trails for bikes, water, small boats, places to build dens … freedom, in fact. So, come to think of it, do their parents.
    We have a large aerial in our loft for radio reception.

  13. I imagine people without wireless, gathered around a fire, might actually be seeing and enjoying what is around them in much more detail and learning what is before them much more thoroughly than those of us who play with wifi and are too easily distracted to notice.

    I love my wireless.

    I also remember being in northern MI a month at a time without tv or telephone, much less anything fancier; there must have been a radio, but I don’t remember it. I was very happy, and I noticed more and enjoyed more. Now, I’d be running in to check my email or the news. I’m not sure it’s really that much of an advantage. I’m just too used to it to give it up.

    Not to mention I’d have little communication with Kimberly, given my letter-writing (or lack thereof). Although I used to write many letters a week in college…

    We’ll see how it is when I go to Haiti next summer!

  14. I think there’s something special about radio. Aside from the saving grace of NPR during horrendously boring summer jobs, there’s something lovely about wilderness and radio (where possible). Two Easters ago James and I were on a sailing holiday in the Abel Tasman (New Zealand). On Good Friday we holed up in an inlet, dropped anchor and watching the evening settle over the hills and water. With St Matthew’s Passion playing on the boat’s radio.

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