1Gbps Fiber Optic Network For Rural Britain 81
cylonlover writes "Economies of scale mean that densely populated cities have generally been the ones to benefit from the roll out of superfast broadband networks, while those in rural areas have missed out. Following Google's recent announcement that it will build and test 1Gbps fiber-to-the-home (FTTH) networks in selected cities with between 50,000 and 500,000 residents in the US, starting with Kansas City, Kansas, Fujitsu has unveiled plans to create a similar superfast FTTH broadband network for five million homes and businesses in rural Britain to bridge the digital divide between city and country."
Cost? (Score:3, Funny)
FTTH! (Score:4, Funny)
Ftth! Ftth! Ftth! Ftth! FTTH!
Damn hairball.
Re:Cost? (Score:4, Funny)
I know where this is heading (Score:4, Funny)
Soon, as rural Britain discovers the entertainment value provided by LOLcats, Farmville, and Rebecca Black, they suddenly won't be bored anymore. Not being bored, they will no longer desire to work the lands. Crops will wilt, no longer be transported to cities and production will fall 90%, and Britain will be cast into the greatest famine since 1315.
Desperate for food, and with their rural counterparts still clapping their hands and laughing feverishly, city-dwelling Britain citizens will start flowing out of the cities in search of food. They will swarm around farms in hope of finding some left-over crops. Soon the survivors will build homes on these farms, and cultivate crops of their own. With cities left desolated and deserted, the new urban areas will be the previously rural areas. And soon enough, Fujitsu will unveil new plans to provide high-speed broadband to the now-isolated rural-urban areas. It's all part of their plan.
Ingenious plan... to ruin my retirement plans. (Score:5, Funny)
Which went like this:
I'd buy a dilapidated old gamekeeper's hut high up on the moor. Every morning, fortified by a heart-stopping fry-up I'd pull on my Wellies, don my tweed coat and cap, and grab my blackthorn walking stick for brisk walk down the moors to the village pub, we're I'd hear the news. Hour after hour, pint after pint I'd join in the general complaining about the state of the government, the weather, and the livestock. I'd then make my tipsy way back to my hut, falling exhausted into bed for nine hours or so of dreamless sleep, then wake up and do it again. This would go on until one day I drunkenly wandered into the fatal mire on the way home. Then, as I was sucked down to be preserved as a curiosity for future generations of archaeologists, I'd pull out my emergency hip flask of gin. I'd pour a stiff shot into the chrome flask cap, then toast a life of dogged utility crowned by one brief, glorious interlude of useless, low-tech pleasure.
Now I know I'll never get down to the pub, because I'll be checking Slashdot "before I go out". Soon I'd be ordering liquor off the Internet, because "it was more convenient". I might as well spend my declining years back here in the States in a high rise apartment block.