Grandma Lied. Coasters Are Bad.

Image by Old Shoe Woman via Flickr

And so, I am on my way home from work, with a blog post or two playing around in my head.

I get home and I am all set to write.  Actually can’t wait.  My PA makes me a coffee before she leaves, and the cursor is blinking expectantly on the screen, ready for my words.  My fingers reach for the keys.

And my phone rings.  I talk to my Dad, listening while my own sentences run through my head.  I can multi-task.

I get off the phone.  Billy Joel starts to sing what I think of now as an appropriate song, and I lift my mug to take a sip of by now luke-warm coffee, just the way I like it.

I’m going to write.  Billy Joel is singing.  I’m happy.  All is right with the world.

And then the bottom drops out.

No, really.

The coaster, sneakily stuck to the bottom of my mug, clattered onto my keyboard.  Because of my slightly delayed, over-zealous fright-reflex, my butt left my seat, my hand shook and I spilt the coffee on the keyboard.

Billy stopped singing.  All was quiet.  Well, except for me.

After making the air blue, I switched off my sticky computer and hung it upside down.

And then, not unlike the time I couldn’t work the blu-ray player, I called Sarge.

‘I’ve done it again,’ I said.  It was true.  The reason I have insurance on this computer is because I did the VERY SAME THING  to my old one.  It was probably the same coaster, too.  The technician said I blew the mother-board.   Which is just a nice way of saying I have too much sugar in my coffee.

My current computer is drying out in our boiler cupboard as per Sarge’s suggestion.

I am writing this in my notebook and then I will type it on his computer.

I have actually thrown out the offending coaster.  I hope my coffee mug is making a mean ring on the table.

If my computer doesn’t switch on again, I shall be cashing in on my coffee-meets-computer-mishap insurance.  That’s what it’s for.