Item: Earlier today, H, who was roasting a chicken in a perfectly ordinary manner at sensible temperatures, switched the oven off, off, mind you, and blew every circuit in the flat. For the second time in a fortnight. We really need to do something about that oven, having, alas, proved it is the oven and not, say, the Seagull of Fate Crapping in the Sandwiches of Destiny.
Item: Evening spent trying not to cry or throw things as Main Computer lay dead at our feet (don’t ask why it was on the floor. It involves screw-drivers and last week’s fuse drama and astonishing laziness on my behalf).
Item: H busily transfered files and I set up a new email account and eventually between us we remembered the password to allow us to keep my email address. This all too technical for words and I simply, mindlessly, did as I was told while H more or less held my wrist and moved my mouse-hand.
Item: I am now blogging from the lap-top. Hurrah!
Item: H is carefully translating the phrase ‘killed by the oven’ into Latin so he can pay proper tribute to dear old Main Computer. He was once a perfectly normal young man, you know. I’ve had a terrible influence on him.
Item: Having worked out how to get the old password that let me work out the old email address that let me reset the new email account to gather ancient emails from that inbox on the server so I could order the charting website to send me a new password to the old email address which was the only email address it was admitting it had ever had from me, I logged into my fertility (ah ha ha ha) chart to update it. It suddenly sprung to life and is insisting I ovulated on Thursday, really truly, and maybe I should learn to trust that jolly little hard-working Satsuma, cynical leathery old trout that I am, etc.
Item: I sneered at my fertility chart, and had a glass of wine.