As you know folks, I’m a techno nerdess. Even my pink – yes, pink – keyboard and mouse groan: ‘Oh no, naff orf nerdess.’
But my dislike of the PC is deeper rooted. When I was 16, Ma enrolled me in a Pitman’s shorthand and typing course – twice. And twice I was slung out for talking.
Also, a keyboard is a keyboard and that means typing. And I hate typing and sitting still.
I don’t do gadgets either. Recently, I bought a tin opener. The stupid thing wouldn’t attach to the can.
Obviously a design fault, so I prepared to return to the shop and complain loudly.
Luckily, I bumped into a girliepal who quickly flicked half the handle open.
‘That’s how it works,’ she said.
Harrumph. Well, there should have been instructions with it.