Swinbrook Village

The other day I was summoned to Johanna Butt's to help set up her new BT Broadband connection. Not really a problem - I've done it many times before. Just one thing, though, she has an Apple Mac.

I've dealt with them twice in my lifetime and swore I would never touch one again. They are the 911 Carrera 4's of the computer world. God knows what goes on under their bonnet. Beautifully styled, ergonomically pleasing, and built for the young generation who couldn't give a toss about how to keep them going as, being able to afford them, they'll just call someone in to fix it when things go awry.

The broadband set up went well without a glitch and she had her new email account set up and I got her to notify all her friends and family of the change of address. I kept her old account so that she would still receive any stray mails going to it. Unfortunately, this meant that she would still receive the 300 spam mails a day that Freeserve had kindly let through for her.

"We'll keep it going for a few days and then trash the account", I said.

A few days later she called to say that some of the emails she was sending were not arriving at destination. "We'll trash the old account now", I said, "it's trying to send your new address through the Wanadoo servers and they won't allow it".

Now, on a PC, you simply delete the old account. A message asks if you really are sure and you click 'YES'. No problems.

A Mac is kind enough to ask you the same question. You say 'YES' but, it neglects to say that you will be wiping out all sent and received emails that you've treasured for the last few years.

Three hours, one glass of wine and a pizza later everything was back as it should be. Not because I had any idea what I was doing but because the 'beautiful' Mac had suffered a nervous breakdown a month earlier and some Mac 'specialist' had repaired it after backing up the machine properly on a CD. I had something to work with (otherwise there would have been zilch).

Anyway, Johanna is happy now.

'Where is this getting us?", I hear you yawning.

Well, today, Jillian caught me in the garden and said that I was so brilliant could I fix her leaking tap in the bathroom? I said, "Apart from a response to a request for further particulars, Quill needing a walk, my depressed state, Angina, Anxiety and all the rest, I may have a washer as I had recently tried to fix mine."

Several particulars later I turned up at her door, wrench and washer in hand. "I've got to go to the doctor in fifteen minutes", she said. "I'll know if it works in five", I replied.

Ten minutes later there was no drip.

"Funny", I said to her, "I did the same in my bathroom but the tap still leaks."

"You'll get your reward in another place", she replied.

"There is no other place", I said, "this is as good as it gets."

"Wert shell weee dooooo?", says a 12 year old BBC commissioning twat, "The Apprentice isn't due back until next season and finding more than twelve useless pratts is getting harder since every channel (except 5) has taken to presenting most of the nation's imbeciles."

"Weeee weeel get Rrrraymond Blonk to preeetend eee izzz Alain Shooooger and eee izzzz finding zeee next coooolinary ontrepooooner to replaze Eston Bloomingnuisance", rrepiliezzzz (oops, replies) the office cleaner.

Gooood lerrrk with your programmz, Rrrrraymond (though I doubt you need it - you've been paid already). There was nothing on the other side and my Mother thought she was watching a cookery show.

Third time back - It is the best value around and the food is excellent.

Go there.

I found this on a blog. Makes me sick to think people are paid to monitor this whilst no one deals with it. This is a sick country and it doesn’t get any better jetting off to the caribbean twice a year.

It's amusing, sometimes, to look out of my window while I'm working (yes, I do work occasionally) to see the odd Golf turn up and park by the green. The lone female driver just sits in it until, a short while later, a company 'Beemer' rolls on behind and stops.

Out she pops, mobile still in hand, and walks to the passenger side, gets in without a word and off it drives. Sometimes she pecks him on the cheek across the Tiptronic and sometimes she doesn't even say a word.

They know each other well, haven't got a dog to walk, and you just wonder where their destination lies and what their business is about.

Some of you might be thinking 'an Al Khaeda cell, IN SWINBROOK!' but somehow my imagination conjours up a married fellow, overweight wife (3 children) and this foolhardy, lurvelost, woman who thinks he's going to leave the family and boat across the Med with her in eternal bliss. She's obviously not studied divorce settlements, yet.

Anyway, as long as they're happy and no one is hurt, I'm all for it. I may be wrong and she is the married one (more likely, really, as he is probably divorced already and that's why they're not in the Med) and she will have to get back to the ironing and drudgery that brought her to the village green in the first place.

They are not the only clandestine operation taking place here. I've even seen someone I knew (not biblically) from around here and she wasn't meeting her partner of many years, that's certain.

Running a blog can turn into quite a harrowing experience. Especially if, like me, you are a conspiracy theorist.

This is all down to webstats. I blame them entirely for putting me in a frame of mind that I really don't like at all.

Why, for example, is someone on an Apple Mac, on a Tiscali connection, looking up Gordon Pearce and Police at 7.35pm on a Friday evening and hitting on my site of all places?

It just makes you wonder, and that is something I hate doing at someone elses instigation as it distracts me from wondering about other, more profound, things like; do Quill's claws need cutting?

So, from now, I intend to ignore webstats and only access, analyse and use them in the event that I should need to. Otherwise, it could drive a reasonable person insane trying to work out the why's & wherefore's.