Yesterday I didn't make the bed properly until ten to five (I spent most of the afternoon in it, writing). With ten minutes to go until I had to pick up C from playschool I straightened the sheets and gave the duvet a quick flick without realising that a CD of the nursery rhyme 'Ten Green Bottles' was hiding in its folds. Out it flew, and landed sharply (sharply? It's round! The damn CD is round!) on the screen of my laptop as it was shutting down.
Crack. A wave a nausea washed over me as I realised what that sound meant. It is possible a softly wailed 'nooooo' escaped my horrified lips.
That's four computers I've trashed during the writing of this one book. Four! 4! For....pity's sake. And I haven't backed up in while, natch. This book will undoubtedly be remembered as the one that destroyed four computers. If I had to recall the others in a similar way they would be as follows:
1. How to be Famous - Big Brother, East Dulwich and being on my own.
2. Ruby Valentine - Brixton days and late, late nights.
3. The Girl Who Had Everything - Poland and screenplays (is it any wonder that one was "the fluffed one"?)
4. Someone to Watch Over Me - Too pregnant to procrastinate.
5. Best Friends - Mummy is a clumsy idiot.
*adds Toshiba to growing pile of hardware scrap on top of wardrobe*
Moving on then, I have appropriated my sister-in-laws Mac (obviously I haven't told her of the laptop-bashing curse which seems to be upon me) and I will continue where I left off, ever hoping that one day I will work out how to extract what I need from my hard drive or, alternatively, that the computer will miraculously heal itself. Both of these currently feel about as likely as the other.
The plus side is that I will be unable to put off telling the end of my story by going back and editing the beginning. There's always a plus side, right?