A computer wizard, probably aged about 14, is to come by in a couple of days to tweak-up the grey haired Poet-in-Residence computer system. The poet has been assured by the tie-fronted commission salesman with a grin as broad as a toothbrush advert that the old computer will then enjoy a zippy zest for life.
Meanwhile Poet-in-Residence is taking the tablets and lying down in a dark room.
This is already proving to be something of a saga for we're already (5 Jly) up to the 4th arranged/un-arranged appointment. We can only hope that the latest electronic gubbins is a bit more reliable than the man in the van with the screwdriver. The omens are certainly not auspicious.
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