Just when our columnist is getting ahead of the game for her hols the technology demons strike...
As we all know, I’m no technology whizz. After all, computers simply weren’t a thing when I was at school, and when I studied for o levels we were still being taught domestic science. despite our potential career choices being listed as teacher, accountant or secretary, we weren’t even instructed in typing skills.
That said, I remained bottom of the cookery class; perhaps this was the fault of the teacher, who entertained us in one lesson by burning off her fringe and eyebrows while lighting the gas. My rock cakes were seriously rocky, although I finally achieved an almostedible Victoria sponge. Had we cooked on Agas I’m sure I would have excelled.
My cooking skills may have improved, but my poor old brain remains in a fuddle with new technology, even though I’m the first port of call to track down historic emails or sort Richard’s computer issues. I may have started using very sophisticated editing programs, but I don’t really understand how the magic works – it’s probably all witchcraft.
Both Happy the laptop and his pal Ivor the ipad donned their cases, ready for their holiday. But before departure, every email had to be answered, every piece of paper filed and every bill paid. I was stockpiling animal feed and cleaning the house till it shone – just to make it nice for our lovely housesitter.
But there’s always a problem or two to be solved and this year I really copped for the lot. It all started when I donated a spare hour to paying a few invoices by online banking just to get ahead of the game. I was happily tapping away at the kitchen island when Willow appeared, dressed in a hoodie and pyjamas and looking very pale.
“I feel awful” she moaned, and slumped on to the window seat. “Uh, oh… tonsils?” “No… it isn’t tonsillitis. It feels like flu.”
Hmm… Willow hates to admit to tonsillitis these days, and I reached for the thermometer, wrestling her to poke the end in her ear. Sure enough, it read 39 degrees. Then I peered in her throat. “Right, antibiotics, paracetamols and bed,” I told her, “You need to get well before we go away.”
I marched her upstairs, leaving my laptop open and my phone resting on the side of the keyboard. When I returned to my post the laptop lid was closed and a grinning Ketchup was sitting on top of it. I gave her a cuddle and put her on the floor, but when I flipped the laptop open the screen was black – nothing worked. Then I saw it, a crack in the screen. It had closed on my phone and was completely useless. Quickly, I contacted Apple and booked an appointment to get it fixed. I had to go into London for meetings anyway so could pop in and sort it. A couple of days later, I reluctantly set off, leaving Izzy to keep an eye on her little sister, with a promise to keep in touch and contact the grandparents, who live nearby, in
case of emergency. That night, thunderstorms hit the whole of the UK, and as I snoozed in my bed by the Thames, I had a rude awakening. Izzy was texting me: “Mama… thunder and lightning.” I tried to calm her, asking her to count between the flash and the thunder; convinced the result would confirm the storm was several miles away… Bad idea. It was overhead. The dogs were going crazy and Izzy was frightened the house might be struck.
“Shall I call Grandy and Poppa?” I asked her. “No, don’t worry, they’ll be asleep. It’ll be fine.” It was after 1am. Then the house lights began flickering and Izzy changed her mind. I felt so guilty calling but relieved when Poppa answered after just a few rings. I explained the situation and within minutes Poppa had jumped in the car. He stayed with Iz for over an hour and by the time he left, the storm had moved on. Naturally, Willow slept through the whole drama.
Next day, my laptop was declared very poorly but, if I was lucky, might be ready for collection before we set off on holiday. Willow’s temperature had soared by the time I returned home, the accountant was jumping up and down for paperwork to be signed, then catastrophe struck – the ring main in the sitting room stopped working – along with the TV.
I escaped to the stables, only to find Max lying down. (He never lies down.) I spent over an hour beside him in the shavings, concerned he was seriously ill. But after watching him yawn several times, realised his age and the heat had been the cause. I cradled his head in my arms and gently stroked him as he dozed. It was the most relaxing and happiest hour of my week and a very special moment – until my phone rang... Two sleeps till
France – I think I might make it – just.