(Never thought I’d see the) Day 94

5.05: Good morning houseplants. I’m back. And it’s like Back to the Future.

Thanks to the heart-and-cockle-warming generosity of Clare Bolton, Queen of Wales, I’m sitting in the crepuscule du martin, punching this into a relic from the age of grey plastic.

She brought it to me in a carrier bag, yesterday, and I couldn’t help notice the treacly residue leeching from its crevices. “I varnished a cupboard and couldn’t be bothered to take it out,” said Clare.

But anyway here we are again. Me, sleep deprived and creaking, and it, sticky and wheezing like a chain smoker on a runaway treadmill.

Apparently, thinking makes it too hot, and it has to switch its fan on every 15 seconds. Electronic menopause, maybe. 

And in between the emphymsemic whistles of its lungs, the hard drive lets out a little bleat, which sounds like a sheep saying “buggery” under its breath.

I typed its name into the internet to see if these machines are widely known to sound like a sheep saying “buggery” under its breath, but apparently this thing is older than Google itself. Which means it can do as it pleases, even say “buggery” under its breath like a sheep.

I decided to give it a more modern name, which is Stuart. I decided, after it took a minute and a half to delete three characters, that it might be more responsive if I tried to think myself into its grey plastic shoes, maybe found out a bit about its interests (whirring, resting, remaining motionless, not doing what it’s asked, and saying “buggery” like a sheep under its breath).

But was it bollocks.

So now I’m just threatening to check Stuart into a Swiss clinic, with a load of dying Morphy Richards kettles and Mollinex blenders.

And as our car steers the winding roads to the big old mansion somewhere outside Zurich, the radio will play this music.

And Stuart will cry a grey plastic tear, then say “buggery” under his breath like a sheep.

6.55: All well and good. Stuart holding up manfully under the threat of being euthenased, although he insisted on going temporarily into what he called Safe Mode, and I called a waking coma. Still, I’ve very very nearly written all the words I’m going to write (there were gaps you may remember). And then I’ll be able to go over it all and take a load of them out. Then we might need some new words. Oil up your rusty circuits,  Stuart, you’ve got a marathon to run.

~ by David Thorley on July 27, 2010.

4 Responses to “(Never thought I’d see the) Day 94”

  1. Apple are rumoured to be announcing new Mac Pros today, which might mean that Helen will have a spare one soon… As a bonus, it’s so large and unwieldy as to be burglar-proof, although there is a risk that they might knock down a wall or two if they really want to remove it.

    • Well (not wishing to do down Bolton’s generosity) that sounds amazing, thanks. Try not to give my burglars ideas, though. They’re tenacious, & will doubtless show up with bulldozers, a wrecking ball, dynamite, panzer tanks, harrier jump jets, rhinoceroces, battering rams, dinosaurs…

  2. I can’t believe you’re even considering replacing Stuart with a Mac Pro. Will it be able to meander through lengthy, circuitous and ultimately pointless war stories about the dotcom bubble? No – but that was Stuart’s heyday, man, as a young, thrusting, laptop-about-town. Have some respect.

    • Hey I named him.

      Stuart, In the words of the Human League, “don’t forget it’s me who put you where you are now / And I can put you back down too”

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