Defrag me Big Boy...

Defrag me like I’ve never been defragged before! And so on and so forth. I told Googling Brother this weekend that my computer was behaving in an even more steam-powered manner than usual. The rotten machine takes for ever to start up these days and when I’m on a roll the words don’t appear till long after I’ve typed the damn things. This is frustrating and smells of poo.

“Well,” he said, scratching his pointy, shaven head, “have you tried defragmenting your hard drive?” OK, why not? I thought, it’s worth a go. So he came out on Sunday avec SIL Kim and the Rowanberry. And a defraging we did go. Guess how long it took. Go on, guess. Nope, you’re not even close. Seven on Sunday evening through till five on Tuesday morning. Thirty four hours.

THIRTY FOUR HOURS - without a computer.

And did I spend my day productively? Did I go dig the garden? Did I plot the next part of the NDC*? Did I paint my naked body green and hide in the field out back to startle the jackdaws? Did I heckers like. Which now means I’m behind with the writing. Booo, hisss... But my hard drive looks as smooth and inviting as a gently-tanned, cellulite-free, young lady’s thigh. Which is always a good thing.

Right, now I have to go play catch-up. Mind the store for me, will you?

* With thanks to Jess for the suggestion: it’s a lot less of pain to type than TNFNADC.