As damning an indictment that your format is in the gutter as you could hope to find. I wondered into Game over the weekend, and after cursing that the gamepad I bought last week was now eight quid cheaper, I headed off for the bargain shelves.

And there they were. Movie UMDs for the PSP. 98p each. Everything must go.

This one brave new format - remember those early 100,000 unit sales boasts - has been crippled by its horrible pricing structure and the fact that you get much more content on a DVD. And the corpses were on the shelves for all to see: Reservoir Dogs, Ghost In The Shell, Resident Evil 2 and more, at under a quid.

The most damning thing of all? I didn’t buy one of them. Eyestrain just isn’t worth the bother…

A few months ago, I blogged here that my credit card had been ripped off to the tune of £2500, which I put down to inputting details of it at a hotel to get wireless Internet access.

Last week, my card was ripped off for £1000, and I’ve not been anywhere near said hotel’s web access.

In both cases, the first I knew was when I checked my online statement and found that a couple of online gambling sites on my account. To be fair to my bank, Cahoot, they’ve acted quickly to investigate both, although given that both amounts are still in ‘dispute’, my limits have been curtailed until the investigation is complete.

It’s not that that bothers me, though (at least, not yet). No, what gets me is that after it happened once, I put a lot more precautions in place. From added software security tools, to only entering my credit card details on very trusted sites (and certainly never over a wireless network), I thought my laptop was as armour-plated as it was going to get. I’m not naïve, and I do appreciate that the determined thief is likely to succeed one way or another if they apply enough time and expertise, but this has all the hallmarks of a casual card theft, and that’s what’s utterly taken me aback.

And here’s the next thing. I’ve been ripped off twice, but if you were my bank’s dispute team? Well, it’d raise a question mark in my mind, and yet I’ve, genuinely, never ever visited the sites I’ve been charged by. Short of a bet once with Ladbrokes a few years ago, I’ve never even gambled online. Presumably, the sites in question now have to deliver some proof that I spent money with them, which they’re inevitably not going to find, but it’s an unpleasant experience having £3500 of money in your name in some form of dispute.

I, meanwhile, have to conclude that my laptop may not have been the source of the problem after all.

Anyway, while Cahoot sort it all out, I think I’m going back to the old caveman bartering ways of monetary transactions. At least then I’ll get to see who’s nicked my club.

I’m not usually one for company rants, but this has really, really got my goat. The only thing even mildly holding me in check is the fact that I’m now awaiting a response from T-Mobile, the stars of this story, which I hope and expect will clear the matter up.

I’ve actually been a happy customer of T-Mobile for many years. Last summer, given the number of wireless hotspots I was using, I forked out for their unlimited hotspot package, where I pay a flat monthly fee for unlimited usage. It’s worked out quite well.

However, I’d been toying with the idea of a 3G modem for my laptop, so I could go online on my many train journeys, and concluded that it’d be a good plan to ditch the hotspot package and go with 3G instead. So off I toddled to the T-Mobile shop, and signed up. While I was there, the helpful member of staff let me use their phone to cancel my existing hotspot arrangement, although eventually I ran out of time and agreed to do it later.

I’ve just got off the phone.

T-Mobile are insisting that I honour the 30-day notice on my hotspot package, in spite of the fact that I have upgraded to what I consider to be their next logical Internet offering. As a result, they are expecting me to pay for both the 3G and the hotspot package for the next month, and have thus far refused to back down.

It takes a lot to leave my speechless. With this, I’m borderline permanent mute.

Personally, I’d expect this to be a simple issue that’ll be quickly resolved. Yet while the customer service adviser I spoke to was helpful enough, there was no budging.

If you’re interested, I’ll keep you posted. If you’re not, thank you anyway. You’ve saved me having to ring a shrink.

If nothing changes soon, I’m going shopping…

Sitting patiently on the Sharp customer support line yesterday, in kicked the latest jolly tune no doubt designed to keep my calm in preparation for the moment when I’d get to speak to a real person.

The tune in question? That classic Disney number, The Ugly Bug Ball.

An oil painting I ain’t, but it beats the ongoing Cliff Richard ditties that one firm thrust at me a few years’ ago. Actually, that tactic worked that time - I hung up long before I suspect the phone was ever going to be answered…

Can anyone top those?