Sex, drugs and rock n roll

After putting some grubby clothes in the washing at first light, I went down the apps rabbit hole again today. The new Windows 10 photo-imports app (it didn’t require an app until two years ago, but now it does) worked like a dream first time last Wednesday. I tried to use it this morning, but it refused to notice the Coolpix camera it cuddled up to three days ago. It kept saying ‘try again’ before I’d actually tried as such, which is never a good sign. So I decided to see if it liked my mobile phone.

Not only did Mr App like my 4G Samsung, he knew its first name right down to the last letter. Then he asked, when a row of numbers came up, is this your password for Sammy Sung and I said no. So it cancelled the operation. I rebooted in order to fox the software, and this time when asked the question I said yes. App said sorry, that’s incorrect – and then went off for a nap. The napping app was clearly taking me for a sap. I was about to snap, and it was only 7.45 am.

So I left the insane labyrinth called IT, and instead took out the toolbox required to create more interior space at the side door, where there has been until now an old Edwardian Hall stand for the hanging upon of outwear. I have dragged this stand with me through two marriages and forty one years, but today I dragged it out of the boot room and down the hill to the old barn and pigsty that became a gite last year. To my shocked delight, the elegant bit of late art nouveau fitted exactly where I’d imagined it going. Then I came back and put up various hooks people have given me over the years, and the end result was a proper boot room as opposed to the pretentious use of that term to describe a crowded corridor.

That should’ve made me Captain Hook, but in reality (as always) I was Captain Slapdash. Cleverly plastered wavy walls are all well and good, but I didn’t do the plastering….and drilling holes in newish plaster covering 300 year old volcanic stone is not unlike probing the penicillin mould in an old pot of jam with a nettle leaf. But compared to the frustration of IT, it was genuine R&R.

Still unable to get any change out of the inscrutable Ten Pic App, I Googled ‘Windows 10 import App problems’, and up came twenty-two million references. Aar-hah, I thought, so it’s not my Coolpix at fault. It seems that Ten Pic App has a tendency ‘to crash for no reason’, ‘suffer unexplained import failure’ and generally irritate everyone with a camera. One forum comment – ‘Hi Microsoft, when you gonna accept that your 10 photos import app sucks?’ – cheered me up no end, but by now I know better than to search for a solution online; instead, I awarded myself a respite time-out, and hung up the washing to dry. Then I rewired an old Victorian lamp, and after that sewed a bottom button back onto my super-cool black leather mid-calf Mod coat from circa 1965. I bought it in a Kent charity shop for £12 three years ago.

Having had a Spanish summer here from April to August, we’re now having an Indian Summer – and tomorrow is the first day of November. I’m going for an Autumn siesta now. Later, Groupies will be slithering all over my naked body. In my dreams.