My computer... an hour on the phone with a man in Portugal, trying this, trying that. Hold down these keys, start it up, is it working now? No?
At least I managed to get all of my files off it. Every hard drive and USB stick is bursting at the technological seams with information. I am going to have to go back to my dictaphone to finish off the interviews because I can't play the files any more.
And then the washing machine. Stubborn creature! It wouldn't drain and sudsy water simpered at me through the porthole at the front. Bah! I called the washing machine man and wept tears of miser-y (that's when you cry because you don't want to pay the call-out charge) at the thought not only of coughing up to fix the bloody thing, but also wasting a precious Saturday morning waiting in for Mr Repairs.
So I did that exercise that I'd done with Portuguese computer man. Off. On. Stop. Start.
It worked! It's merrily screeching away in the kitchen and I've cancelled Mr Repairs. For now, anyway.
Glasses. Computer, Washing machine.
That's enough, thanks.