This morning, I took my desktop in two cardboard fruit boxes to the man in the village who is going to try to get the machine back to normal, or, failing that, rip out the old hard drive so that I can have the pleasure of starting again from scratch.
We had a coffee, we chatted for a while, and in the background his son was boiling up blackcurrant jam on the hob. I even helped sift through the recycle bins to find some empty jars. Surreal.
Finally, my good man said that he would look at my puter tonight after the jam-maker had gone to bed.
Second fiddle to a sprog puddling a vat of boiling jam. Humiliating: as if I haven't suffered enough already.
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