machines

and no, not the kind everyone on facebook seemed to think I was referring to. Not fucking-machines... rather 'those fucking machines' as in my laptop that has unceremoniously died, taking with it all my photos. Nothing else on there that I care about particularly deeply, it's not as though I've written anything of note recently... but right in the middle of my metrica work, and now the screen I'm working on is the size of a miniature frog's scrotum (said frog is at the bottom of a coalmine too, and I sit, sadly, under its arse).

I got frustrated to the slamming things around point (tearfully, of course) and I decided that this is crazy. I've worked all weekend for just over 200 bucks on a brief that is so juvenile I could scream. I may as well have gone to the hostel and mopped up after the oldies. At least there was some human contact there and a beautiful view out to sea.
B said the machine is fixable, but at the end of the day, I don't want to be tied to machines. I would love to live a computerless life, at least at home...

So we resorted to tapas on the balcony again, and a glass or two of wine from York, and soon we're going to Perth to meet Craig (successful business man that he is!), and then going to see the Kill Devil Hills at 10pm...
the weekend can still be salvaged.