January 7th, 2004


Wrong answer.

Phone call. Cliff calls for me to answer. I get out of bed to do so. Mum's on the other end.

"Have you got work..."
"No, what's wrong?"
"Get yourself ready. I'm picking you up."
"You're to come over here and help us with someone's computer."

I think my uncle believes I am Computer Jesus - able to heal damaged circuitry and save corrupted files. I think I need more sleep and wanted a shave today. Alas, I'm getting myself ready now and I also fear I'll be stuck round their place all day, also having to show Terry about that interior design program which I've not shown an interest in at all so far.

The biggest problem with my uncle is he doesn't believe in the word can't - so if a part of their computer has fried, I can't can't fix it, I envisage. The second largest problem is my uncle likes to get away with things as cheaply as possibly. I can't imagine someone from my shop would go round to someone's house without offering a quote first. Hmm, that's an idea. When I get there, claim it's broken, get them to take it into the workplace, and they can let someone more professional work on it.

This could be a massive waste of a day of rest.
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