Crash, Bang Wallop

Didn't intent to leave Sunday's blog up for two days, but last night the sodding computer crashed on me. Lost the whole thing.

You didn't miss much, unless you were aching for a good long think piece about Sheffield being the Slipper capital of England. But I was bloody furious. With myself more than owt - and for the same reason as always. I din't press "Save"

I always fall for this. Get lulled into a false sense of security and start bobbing about from software to software, and drifting off to surf the net for something or other. Last night I was getting distracted by the late coverage of the World Series Rounders match beaming in from the states. Got so caught up in this strange Alien-American sport event I forgot to get the blog uploaded and...

The big freeze.

You must have had the Big Freeze. It's that strange thing a computer does when it seems to be in deep thought about something you've asked it to do. "Hmm. Cut this out and paste it over there...Now let's see..." (Whirrr).

At first you think - Naw it can't have crashed cos its busy making this whirring noise. Like its just trying to solve some quick mathematical puzzle you inadvertently gave it to think about. So you wait. And wait. And wait.

The reality of the situation - the sodding machine is stuck in some sort of limbo - a kind of computerised repetitive-strain injury has suddenly kicked in and you just know deep down that no matter how many little tricks you play to wake the system up (Control/alt/delete, ejecting the CD, shouting at it...) the situation is really very clear. The damned thing has crashed.

You can but like a billy goat but all that deep and meaningless verbage is gone, man. Solid gone. Leave the damn box for a week and it's little whirling icon is going to be still there, mocking you.

But when there's a ton of stuff done that you are not willing to let go of, the inevitability of it all just doesn't get through. No I won't accept it. I'm going to make this electronic box come back to life! I'm not going to give in and reach for the plug. There's got to be a bit of circuitry in that box somewhere that has a bit of heart, a bit of sympathy. It can't just be a mess of wires and plastic surely.

So that's how I was still up when the Anaheim Angels beat the San Francisco Giants still keeping a north eye on the computer to see if that whirring little bastard was still there. At times I was close to lobbing the thing out into the skip in the street and giving up on this whole sad exercise! Surely no-one actually gives a hoot about all this rambling on, so why should I get so worked up about some daft article late on a Sunday night.

And it really was a daft 'un too, which makes it worse! Just one big wind-up about the hard Sheffielder - the ex-steelworking tough who has been softened up by posh seats at the football and bus shelters and crap bottled lager. Slobs around in fluffy mules on the sly.

I just didn't want to accept that all that clap-trap had just fallen off the memory boards.

I mean the sheer cheek of the darned thing. Its like a dog playing fetch wandering off with the stick. No piece of junk gadget going to get the better of me that bloody easy. I don't care how much it cost, its going to give up my blog!

Whirrrr...

Finally the dawn chorus began outside and at last fucket switch went. I gave up. Power down. Game over. Real life.

Blogga.