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I have long been labouring under the misapprehension that I still look exactly the same as I did when I was 25. Mentally, I feel the same so obviously I must look the same, mustn't I? People tell me I don't look my age, and in my vanity, I believe them.
In most recent photographs, I am wearing a riding hat. The peak cleverly casts a flattering shadow that erases wrinkles better than botox. In my ignorance, I have assumed that's what I look like all the time.
But this week, I have been unable to escape from the frightening truth. I have had three photographs taken because of my new job. Each of of them has made me think: "Oh my God, who is that wrinkly woman?" In one, I look in pain so I felt compelled to ask to have another one taken. In the replacement shot - which I am now stuck with - I have bags beneath my eyes you could carry your shopping home in.
I wonder if eye bag surgery is available on the NHS?
Dealing with a dying computer was not the way I wanted to end my Bank Holiday. The inconsiderate creature decided to gasp its last when I was blogging. Something about a fatal error in the registry. I’m used to its blue screens of death; it usually gets over them if I sigh deeply, cajole, then threaten. This time, though, there were no reviving cyber-smelling salts. It was gone – taking with it all my (unbacked up) Word documents, photos and a few CDs worth of music. I could say I was rather cross but I believe incandescent with rage is the phrase I’m looking for.
The only way I could resurrect it was to use the reload CD: the one that wipes off everything and takes the computer back to basics. Then I had to reload my broadband stuff and ring the nice man at my ISP because I couldn’t remember my user name. Then I had to reload Office.
I remember the first time I loaded software on to a PC I was afraid I would somehow cock it up. Now I am blasé – I simply don’t care. These stupid machines have a mind of their own, and quite often they have malicious moods. If they take it upon themselves to eat your documents and photos, there is absolutely nothing you can do. "Internet Explorer has encountered a problem and will now close". You – the supposedly intelligent member of this partnership – don’t have the slightest say in the matter. “Oh no, don’t close,” you cry. You think you hear the PC chuckling demonically to itself as it shuts down…
My PC – a £80 second hand jobbie – has always been a fragile prima donna. I thought I treated it well – it had a nice firewall, it had anti-virus protection and I frequently scanned for malware. But it didn’t even have the decency to tell me it was going to close down and gobble up my unsaved thoughts. It just struck, hard and fast.
And if some clever clogs decides to tell me that I could have done something to save my things – a word to the wise: don’t. You wouldn’t like me when I’m incandescent with rage. Just ask the computer.
I have long been labouring under the misapprehension that I still look exactly the same as I did when I was 25. Mentally, I feel the same so obviously I must look the same, mustn't I? People tell me I don't look my age, and in my vanity, I believe them.
