God, the internet's a distracting place, particularly now I've invested in a decent netbook. I'm not sure if it's technically possible for a laptop to be classed as an Absolute Cock Head - I'll have to look up the Collins definition of that term for clarification - but if not, my old computer did a damn fine job of impersonating one.
The internet was not a place for my laptop. Oh no. Like an elderly woman who still keeps her gas money under the chair cushion and doesn't trust the BBC, it would just rather do things the old fashioned way. Whenever I asked it to look up something for me or connect to a website, it kept trying to persuade me to maybe just go and look in a book instead or hey, why not pick up the phone and make the 15 international calls that would be required to discover the name of that ancient monument in Peru you once heard about?
Like a grizzling child, it chuntered and stalled and sulked. It took several hours to get ready for a cyber outing, the equivalent of trying to put wellie boots on a reluctant toddler as it cried and dragged its arse along the carpet. As it obviously couldn't speak - except in those irritating little speech bubbles that pop up occasionally, saying it's had enough of the Times website now so it's shutting down for a little sleep - it expressed its displeasure in non-verbal ways. Primarily, by making me want to kick it down the street until it had vapourised into chalk dust.
So anyway, my shiny new little friend is a real breath of fresh air. I feel like a divorcee enjoying a pert young lover after 30 years with the same saggy, monosyllabic spouse. It's quick, it's keen, it's energetic. But now that messing about on the internet is actually easy and pleasurable, instead of a joyless exercise that gave me plenty of time to contemplate the relentless approach of death, I am finding there are far too many distractions for my own good.
Last night I penned a long and dreadfully dull rant about Facebook, so I hope that won't ever become a preoccupation. But with emails and blogs to read, emails and blogs to write, and the knowledge that at the touch of a few buttons, you can find out anything you ever wanted to know on this vast and incomprehensible network, pressing your nose to the grindstone and keeping it there becomes even more difficult than ever. I bet Dickens never had this trouble, but he might have done, if he'd had Google Earth or fancied checking out BigJugsRUs.com.
This week, my writing is actually on target, even though I fell pathetically behind on Tuesday and had to make up the ground yesterday. But it took several hours and plenty of dedication. So, bearing in mind I still have 5,000 words to write, along with a trip to the supermarket and a few chores to fit in before this evening, I'd better stop this drivel and get to it. I'll just quickly check my stars and find out who holds the record for the most farts in an hour and then I'll be straight back to it, promise....
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