Ilyah Mohammed, Dell's answer to Terry Bin Wogan, has sent me the wrong kind of mouse, so now my cup runneth over. No, it bloody boileth over. Why does nothing ever go in a straight line?
As it happens, I have repaired the original, she has, bless her, risen phoenix-like from the ashes, with nothing worse than a scorched bum and a slight odour of burnt plastic.
But over there, in Dublin or Sligo or Mumbai sits Ilyah O'Mohammed, unaware of my chagrin. What to do? I wonder if the Archbishop of Canterbury is up to a fatwa?
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