3.ll a.m. Wednesday morning.
For two days I have been trying to get on line, convinced that both my computers had contracted some terminal virus and it was probably my fault. So I switched off and went to bed. At 3 a.m. I woke up, turned on the computer and there it was, purring at me.
It seems that the broad band connection for which I pay through the proverbial nasal organ just cannot handle the traffic and so unimportant customers, like writers who depend on Internet connection to do business, get left off. Isn't it wonderful how Private Business handles everything so much more efficiently that the Public Service used to. I don't think.
It is now 3.30 a.m. and my inner voice, the one that tells stories and writes poems is protesting that I should not be working on Northern Hemisohere time. So Goodnight all.