It's Friday, about 2.20pm and I just got as big a tirade of abuse from a client that I have ever had, I wouldn't mind but it's not even my fault! (Well it never is, is it?). I put the phone down and reach for the Ibuprofen, I've not been feeling well recently and my head is pounding.
I turn to my laptop, a few more emails in my inbox, all requiring "action". (I must have a word with Mr. Gates one day about those fearsome big red exclamation marks, standing upright and proud beside their message like an infuriated Sergeant Major delighting in his "High Importance"). I ignore them, I really can't be bothered.
For a moment I stare at the laptop, that bloody laptop. I loved it when I first got it with it's iridescent style, soft springy keys that seemed to caress your fingertips like a tender kiss on the cheek from your first real love; but now? I despise it, it follows me everywhere, and it enslaves me, demanding my attention, feeding on my aspiration for information, communication and social empowerment.
