I would like to know why computers persist at making my life harder. I have never hit them, I care for them and often talk to them properly. For god's sake according to some people (who think I'm a robot AI) we're practically related. And yet my troubles continue.

My first ever personal computer was a desktop named Chiro. It was huge, heavy and constantly covered in dust and I loved it to bits. I made all my newbie mistakes in it. And yes I admit it may have been slightly neglected, and yes at one time it got a bad virus infection but it got better. With help, Chiro did recover.

I was against Chiro being scraped; in my opinion as retirement it deserved to serve a happy life as a computer in the art block; Mr Turley's room. I somehow never got round to it, and Chiro ended up being scraped. And now I suspect its ghost haunts me.

Then came the second hand apple laptop, creatively name Chiro 2. (Well it was better than MSSL 5 which was what it was called before). I think out of all my computers to date I miss that one the most. My only apple. Perfect in every way. Until it died. Around my birthday last year. It seems that 'milk to the motherboard' was fatal. (And god that would make a good title: 'Milk to the Motherboard')

It took me weeks of selection to choose my current one. Assuming that getting a windows would be cheaper we searched for one that was not infected by Vista. (If you don't know about the evils of Vista ask Burnie, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to educate the ignorant). This time I decided that a new name was needed and born was 'Ianto Jones' (Thing is, now that somebody understands where the name cames from it's quite embarrassing. Yes, I did name my laptop after a fictional welsh administrator and self-proclaimed coffee lover. So what?)

Now Ianto Jones has served me well until about a month ago. That was the time around which the wires went to hell. The last few weeks have been a battle with technology wich I have now lost due to the wires melting.

In my mind I can not help that wonder that the name I choose influenced a bit the events. If we look at it from a certain angle (and squint, stand on one leg while singing Christmas carols) we may see that the laptop was Ianto and the wires were Lisa. The last month was post Canary Wharf and now that Lisa was finally died it is obvious that my computer needs a new companion in life.

Stopwatch, anyone?

My life is not that insane, but I do my best to make it so.

(I'm going to have to name my wires as well now, won't I?)

PS Yes my camera does have a name. It's Emrys. Somehow all technology around me is turning up to be male.

PSS. And yes Emrys is also a character. Although I'm rethinking my decision of that particular name.

PSSS I'm also currently ill. And I suspect it should be Pps rather than Pss. Actually let's just say 'Nota Bene; and be done with it.

Nota Bene: Not totally ill; I don't have a temperature. But! I do have a runny nose, sore throat, headache and am both coughing and sneezing. And my head is fuzzy.

Another Note: On being a robot. When insomnia gets to me I generally try to imagine I'm in a secluded forest meadow, with a murmur of human conversation around me. It sometimes helps to calm my mind down. After work experience I was in a state where any human contact was prone to set me for. (A bit like a hay fever allergy when its bad on its own, but you know that just a bit more and it will set of an allergic reaction severe enough for hospital). And that night I didn't think of warmth and sun filled grasslands but rather of a dark cold room full of chrome and metal. And that worked as well. So sometimes, just sometimes I like to think that maybe having a dream and future similar to that of Kimiko Ross wouldn't be so bad.