DAY TWELVE

Now I'm really losing track, having squandered two entire days in that nether world of computer frustration, where nothing seems to work and nothing you do seems to fix it.

The new computer - the one to replace the new one that didn't work - arrived on Tuesday as scheduled. What should have been a simple installation of software followed by a migration of files, all went horribly wrong.

(The scene of the computer crime - somehow we had managed to assemble at least six computers!)

My files refused to migrate automatically through the usual firewire link between the two computers, and so I had to do the migratation, file by painful file - including my entire library with all its preferences.

It took hours. And then, finally, just when I thought it was all hunky dory, my hard disk told me it was full. 120 gigabytes of full. When there should have been more than 70 gigabytes of free space. I went to bed in despair and frustration.

The following day, with the help of Apple expert and software genius, Eric the Viking, I finally solved all the problems and got the damned thing working - with full access to the online virtual world I am researching. Woo-hoo! Back in business.

As a thank you to all, I made lunch. My famous souffle omelette, which the Viking generously described as the best omelette he'd ever had.

And by way of celebration, as well as to make up for missing my session at the gym, we all went out for dinner - well, eating and drinking seems to me like a good way of making up for lost exercise!

At the restaurant, we met up with Susie's neighbours Rob and Linda, and through the windows watched folk sitting outside around tables with huge flames flickering into the night - California style.

Suddenly I became aware that the waiting staff was treating us like celebrities.

For a moment I thought it was because of Rob. Rob is a big, glamorous man with a teak tan and a thick head of pure white hair. He just took early retirement from what must be one of the most exotic jobs on the planet - for the last fifteen years or more he piloted Sony Pictures private jets around the world, rubbing shoulders with famous movie stars, producers and directors, and flying them to every corner of the planet.

But it wasn't Rob attracting the attention of the staff. And it certainly wasn't me.

Then came the revelation.

It was Eric the Viking. Only, they didn't know he was Eric the Viking. They thought he was Karl Rove - political guru and architect of the Bush presidency. I did a double-take, and for the first time realised that the Viking was, indeed, the dead spitting image of the one-time White House puppetmaster.

I was almost in exalted company, I thought. Then re-thought. Actually, I was in much more exalted company than any disgraced White House chief of staff. I was with good friends, in a fine restaurant, with a computer back home that was finally back on track.

Not only that, but I was eating Scottish salmon. A taste of home.

Sometimes life is good. And good friends are even better!

(PS: Can anyone spot which is the real Eric the Viking?)