Sometimes I wonder if the universe is telling me to go back to writing by hand on paper. Well, not sometimes, but most days actually. Because most days I open up either my laptop or my netbook, all ready to forge ahead with my novel or my thesis only to spend a minimum of two hours trying to get either of the machines to work.
It is extraordinary how the machines pick up gremlins overnight. It makes no difference if they spend the night in the sitting room or in my bedroom, something ghastly happens to them during the dark hours. I suspect they are like the princesses in the Twelve Dancing Princesses, who crept through a secret door each night and danced with princes all night before returning to their bedrooms. The only evidence of this night time activity was their twelve pairs of shoes, completely worn out.
My laptop and netbook have obviously been taken over by MI6 or the CIA or perhaps even the KGB, whose clandestine use of my technology has utterly worn them out, leaving them recalcitrant by morning.
This is my plea to those organisations named above: Get your own machines. Leave mine alone. Or at the very least have the goodness to leave my machines in the condition you find them in.