I have a habit of naming things.
My iPhone is called Lucille.
My car is called Pancetta.
My guitars are Dot, Charlene and Tigerlily.
I realised last night that I don’t have a name for my laptop. I realised this when I wanted to cry out its name in vain. I was reminded of that clip of Hercules where he shouts the stage direction. Actually, I’ll link that. It’s too good.
The problems started when I decided to have a nice bath and watch Elementary. I chose to do these two things together, precariously balancing the laptop on the lid of the toilet. It makes me feel like I’m in an episode of Cribs.
Since that bath and the hefty amount of steam I have since figured got lodged up in old laptop, it won’t turn on.
I have written two novels on that thing, recorded fifty(ish) songs and haven’t ever deleted the Internet history. Now I have to call up Apple Support and hope to all holy fucking gods available at this busy time of year that there is a simple solution and laptop will be back in my loving arms before you can say extended warranty.
It did mean however that I got dressed in record time this morning because I wasn’t checking emails or updating Twitter, Tumblr or Facebook but I can quickly see this getting very The Shiningif the matter continues.
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