Some of you may remember Coffeegate 2011. Well, it’s become an annual event. Earlier this week, I picked up my coffee with my left hand. And promptly dropped it. On my computer. Again. Maybe it was the weight of my engagement ring. Or maybe it’s because I am seriously not left-handed. At all. Ever. Anyway, the screen went black and coffee seeped between the keys before I could switch it off and flip it upside down. I know what to…
I talk to my computer. Depending on my mood, my headset and speech recognition are optional. When I’m not apologising for the coffee stains, procrastinating, shall we say, positively willing it to hurry up, or punching the keys, I’m dictating. And sometimes, I’m misquoted. Hemingway thinks I should be more interesting. Or grammatically incorrect. Some recent examples are: I Said: She wished she could speak French like French people. He Heard: She wished she could speak Brent like I…
As I admitted in a previous post, I fried my laptop. Again. I was all ready to cash in my coffee insurance, and was even a little proud of myself that I managed to do THE EXACT SAME THING a second time. I was racking up crazy writer points. To go with my Post-It notes and pens and frizzy hair. Or something. I had come to terms with the fact that my machine would stay fried, again. I might have…
And so, I am on my way home from work, with a blog post or two playing around in my head. I get home and I am all set to write. Actually can’t wait. My PA makes me a coffee before she leaves, and the cursor is blinking expectantly on the screen, ready for my words. My fingers reach for the keys. And my phone rings. I talk to my Dad, listening while my own sentences run through my head. …
