25April1996

My dear folks,

I never thought that I should come to perform the equivalent of heart transplant surgery on my beloved computer, but I have - and its heart beats strong - even if mine was in my mouth. Sorry if that sounds a bit hackneyed. But that’s how it was. The article in my computer magazine insisted that upgrading the processor was a simple matter of extracting the old item from the computer’s innards & inserting the new one. And so it was, more or less! The more included the intensive study of an accompanying booklet & on-screen guide & a beseeching mid-operative phone call to Viglen’s help desk. Still, it was accomplished within the hour. Computer shed its antiquated 60 megahertz silhouette & reappeared with bulging 120 MHz muscles.

The difference is palpable. And so it should be. I read the magazine article thru twice to explore the benefits & made several cautious phone calls to Viglen’s computer support line & that of Intel (the processor manufacturers) to ensure that the 2 products were compatible & to check recommended prices. I also made enquiries with half a dozen suppliers although, in the end, I found what I wanted more cheaply in the bazaar of retailers on the Tottenham Crt Rd. Thereafter followed the careful unplugging, unscrewing & dismantling of Viglen’s innards & the equally careful reverse process. If there was a sobering moment, it was to peer into Viglen’s vitals & perceive no sign of the computer’s soul in the mass of boards, chips & wires. I console myself with the reflection that the medical profession is little better off. Transplanting souls remains within the gift of the gods of reincarnation.

I thought of religious matters as I passed the bookshop run by the Scientologists in Tottenham Crt Rd. I am deeply grateful that none of you are follow the Scientologist path. Scientologists piss me off like few others, even the great & lethal fraud, Asahara. If ever Bobo calls the tune, Scientologists had better head for the distant hills. What’s amazing is that converts, aware that it’s a secrets for cash deal they’re embracing, willingly hand over all for the privilege of approaching the oracle. Ron Hubbard’s ghost must be laughing yet as it haunts his Mediterranean yacht.

I philosophised further as I cycled along a km of frozen street, its only outlet into the constricted arterial where road works had reduced 3 lanes to 1. For 5 mins, I rode past dozens of immobile cars & frustrated motorists & all the time I thought what a crazy world it was where people were imprisoned, one to a cell, in their little motorised cubicles. If they’d all been on bicycles, they’d have been home - like me - long before they’d managed to squeeze past the restrictions. I sneaked a look at Regents Park as I passed, with computer graphic flower beds, great streaks of red & yellow tulips - & brawling Canada geese, & tramps swigging beer on the benches.

Here, I’ve bought Mavis a green bulb that he appreciates. I got it from the repair shop where I took our toaster to get its middle element replaced. Mavis likes the warmth of a lamp, especially overnight, without the constant brightness that forces him to cap his eyes with a paw. We had another little tiff, when he honked his supper over the bedroom floor, & got his nose plonked in it for his troubles. But that’s all history now. We love each other. He’s fed & warm & I enjoy his company. That’s enough for tonight, don’t you think? I had my first email from Conal today. Great stuff!