Sunday, February 18, 2007
Machine versus man
All weekend machines conspired against me. I heard them whispering. The TV is ofcourse a dead zone, sulking because my husband refused to get it a satellite companion. They have taken revenge because a man in overalls fixed the phone when they believe it had the right to a duvet day or two. Worse than being without a phone was the fact I kept forgetting it did not work and would pick up the receiver and say "hello, hello?" like someone in a 1930's movie summoning a monochrome operator to the drama. I cannot even use my mobile. Up here, people have mobiles but more in hope than any expectation of using them. What century do we live in? Why is it necessary to stand by the bedroom window, open the wooden shutters and stand on one leg to make a call. The landline had only just been teased into submission when the car gave up the ghost. I cannot be sure but I think I hurt the Volvo's feelings when I said we had too many cars. This morning, my husband arrived just past 2am on a 24 hour stopover between work crises. He found me waiting for him, curled up in the darkness beneath a green silk quilt with a sick six-year-old. "How are you?" he whispered. "He's sick and the car won't start" I said. Tonight, my computer joined the ranks of the conspirators. "I'm not working," it told me, "I don't like what you write."