Monday, 22nd October

Monday, 22nd October

Keyword for the Day: Technofail

I had a pretty uneventful day at work today, apart from when I was washing my hands in the loo and a colleague who was standing beside me said how much she was enjoying The White Cuckoo. It was a shiny diamond moment in a dull, foggy day which perfectly matched the Monday morning feeling that had enveloped my desk as soon as I arrived.

I say uneventful, but it wasn’t completely, because I heard a really interesting story today. The story was interesting to me, but horrific for my colleague who suffered the loss of his briefcase, complete with wallet, Ipod and Ipad on Friday afternoon. I shall most definitely use this scenario somewhere in my next novel.  I was looking for an opening, and now I have identified how my next novel will begin.

So, following a dull day at work, after tea I snuggled up in my armchair with Ken Follett (Winter of the World).

Hubby was flicking through channels on the TV, but despite the Virgin XL package with squillions of channels, plus Movies, he couldn’t find anything to watch.  He muttered something about ‘War Horse’ being a rip-off and then switched to the recorded programmes to see if there was anything he had recorded and missed.

‘That blasted kid …’ he exploded as the screen filled with multitudinous recorded Crime Stories. ‘He’s been messing with the remote again. You wait till I see him …’

I looked up. Now I could have let Charlie get the blame for it, but I had totally forgotten that, in trying to record just one episode I was in the middle of watching at the weekend, I had somehow managed to programme every episode between now and about Christmas, but hadn’t known how to delete it.

‘Oh … it was me,’ I mumbled, looking back down at my Kindle. ‘I only wanted to watch one, and I pressed the wrong red button …’

‘How the hell can you press the wrong red button …’ he bellowed. ‘… there is only one …’

(I knew he was still annoyed after receiving a car insurance renewal for £800 this  morning, so I ignored him and just shrugged my shoulders. My hubby is a bit retentive like that … one annoying episode tends to reverberate through his day and perpetuate his Victor Meldrew gloom like a misfiring car engine.)

‘Well … ‘he ranted. ‘Do you want to watch all these episodes or not. They are taking up all the memory …’

‘Delete them then,’ I said flippantly. ‘I never get to use the remote because you tuck it down the side of your chair so that I can’t get my hands on it. It’s no wonder I don’t know how to use the recording thingy properly’

‘Now you know why,’ he sneered. ‘Never let a woman loose with the remote … or a car, for that matter.’

I smiled sweetly. I was not going to bite. I bit my lip hard trying not to laugh as he had to delete them all, one by one.  All nine pages of them!  It took him about ten minutes because every every two ‘deletes’ it somehow automatically put him back to the main menu.

His face was so red with what I can only assume was high blood pressure, I really did think he was about to have a heart attack.

Now … where’s the life insurance policy …

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