And so with a deep sigh I have consigned my beautiful Powerbook (which has been with me a such a very little time) back to the welcoming arms of Mother Apple. My child needs to be fixed. The strange mottling blotchiness of his screen had become worse and worse as the days passed by until they resembled nothing so much as a pair of staring blank eyes – evil eyes – that hovered in front of every piece of work I did, every movie I watched, every e-mail I sent. It’s so difficult with beautiful computers – you love them (like a child), training and working with them until you operate as one (like a family) until eventually they betray you (like a child all over again). But when they turn sour that good feeling stays with you for longer – it’s so difficult to do what must be done but do it you must. They must be sent off to faraway scientists who’ll open them up with strange devices, rooting around in everything that makes them what they are and forcing their silicon biology back to standards that their parents can live with. They must be brought back to civilised behaviour whatever the cost.
Data may be lost – I accept that. The Powerbook that I gave to the rather nice-looking man from UPS may not feel or be quite the same when it returns. It will have been changed, fixed, broken and reformed. But when it returns it will work – and work it must – for I have typing to do.