This weekend, the house was full of enormous men reading maps and talking about Land Rovers. Our annual adventure to the Sahara is drawing closer, and they were here to discuss routes, and suitable dunes to camp beneath etc. When it comes to food they like quantity above all else, so the kitchen was full of steaming pots brimming with chilli.
In among everything I tiptoed out to the computer to upload my latest blog, and discovered to my bleak horror that my website had disappeared and in its place was a bland message full of acronyms telling me to download my feeder (I think) and various other incomprehensible messages.
And I realised again the disadvantage of growing up before technology changed the world. My childhood was spent deep in the country and mainly outdoors. Television was there for the evenings, I loved Batman and something called Snowy White Horses, but you only watched it for a few minutes and then rushed off and did something real. There were books in plenty: we had a huge haunted library which I didn’t like to linger in, but would grab an armful of books ancient and modern from the long, dusty shelves and bear them away to my lair under an old dresser in a disused kitchen. It all sounds gothic and strange from a distance, but it was entirely normal to me.
Anyway, back to the point of this blog. If I encounter a sheep on its back, or a horse on three legs or a goose that is walking backwards (all of these have happened in the last month) I have a pretty good idea what to do. I’d like to think I could sort it, and probably wouldn’t need help. But confronted by a screen telling me that my website had gone walkabout and it was probably all my fault, and hearing in the distance the large men trying to find where I’d put the apple crumble, I hadn’t a clue how to proceed.
Mikey, my eldest son and IT man, has inherited the adventure gene and is far, far away. By texting I contacted him (how I love texting, it can reach him in the furthest flung places which often have better reception than I do in these nearly-Cotswold hills) and he made his way to a computer which every town seems to have no matter how improbable. And he got my website back. Huzzah!
I suppose I can console myself with the knowledge that I am unrivalled at digging sickly chicks out of their eggs. But actually (let it be whispered) it would be far more useful to be able to grapple with a vanished website. Far, far more useful.