With a sold-out talk for the Society of Genealogists in the offing my lap top decided to go slow and then grind to a halt. As I was fresh from a ‘discussion’ with Amazon who decided they couldn’t verify my bank account in order to pay the paltry royalties due to me, this was the last thing I wanted. I should add that Amazon have been using this bank account for over two years with no problem but I guess they have to check occasionally. The issue seemed to be that the account officially uses my initials whereas the system assumes it uses your name and insists that you enter that. Anyway back to the expiring laptop. Good news, the repair shop was open during lockdown. Bad news there could be a week to wait. I review the alternatives for giving the three Zoom talks I have in the next week. I can use a lap-top that only has the free version of Power Point, meaning I have to alter all the fonts. Alternatively, I can use a teeny tiny lap top that is more difficult to use. A bit of testing and it seems I can make this work. Hurrah.

I am sat in the conservatory because that is the best light. The talk, on Madness, Mania and Melancholia: mental health of our ancestors, goes well. I am just in to the 35 minutes’ worth of questions when a neighbour arrives at the glass door with a brace of very deceased pheasants in his hand. I try to subtly gesture to the front door indicating that he should ring the bell, which should summon my lockdown companion. No, subtlety isn’t cutting it. I have to abandon the audience briefly to explain. I guess it beats the Zoom call cats.

The catalogue of woes continues. In order to complete a job due next week I need to download some software on to the borrowed computer. To do this I need to access a website. I have forgotten my password (which is saved on the defunct computer). Simples, I will reset it. It needs me to answer a ‘secret’ question. ‘What is my mother’s maiden name?’ That old chestnut. Clearly I do know what my mother’s maiden name is; I am a family historian. I don’t normally give the correct answer as it is in the public domain (you can probably find it on this website). It is also very easy to guess. I try the only two plausible alternatives – wrong. I try the actual maiden name – also wrong. There is no way round the ‘secret’ question. There should be a help phone number but guess what, the document with these useful numbers on is accessed via the website I can’t currently get in to. You couldn’t make it up.

I won’t mention the other website I can’t get into because I am not receiving the verification codes that they are allegedly sending me. Oh and then there was me trying to connect the borrowed laptop to my printer – don’t even go there. ‘You have 90 seconds to use this verification code.’ On this teeny tiny lap top – no chance. Good news I have a wireless keyboard and yes I can even locate it in the crowded loft. What I can’t locate is the little USB thingy that has to go in the laptop – sigh. Expect typos.

Then there is Tesco’s, fortunately to reset their password you do not need the inside leg measurement of your infant teacher’s uncle. I put in a new password, ‘that is your old password, please choose another password’. Arrgghhh.

Another day, another Zoom talk. I have finished the actual talk and am trying to minimise the presentation in order to copy and paste my web address in the chat. I press the escape key. Ah well on my computer it would be the escape button. On the one I’ve borrowed it is the power off key. Luckily this one was a double-hander so I just had to pop up on a different screen in another room in my house. Never work with children, animals or technology.