The Dr is out tonight having tea with a friend, and I’ve been left lonely and plotting.
My thinking cap sits at a rakish angle following a chance encounter. All kinds of treasure is being drawn forth – space wars and recreational incest, a computer with a headache, some murder, some foam, no clothes and a cliff-hanging window.
A late self-addressed note compels "ONLY MORE AND MUCH WEIRDER". Need it written up before pubbing on Saturday.
This elan of grey matter is all rather welcome. For days I’ve been grouchy and about to explode, “What the bloody-hell-cock is a Wii?”
Don’t write in, as I now have the edge of the premise. It’s like a souped up VIC 20 with crazy more games. (Though sadly, that doesn’t mean an Amstrad; not even one with its very own disk drive.)
On a not unrelated tangent, is it only me filled with incandescent rage when adverts leave off the word “pounds”? Computers for “just three-nine-five” and cars “starting from six-seven-nine-nine”... they’re more like odds than prices.
Perhaps it’s a ploy so we forget they mean money, and the corresponding toil in the workplace.
Or perhaps they accept payment in other kinds of currency – like 395 dreams or 6,799 kittens.
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3 comments:
Old-computers is a fine site indeed, but if you look here instead, you'll see that several real people own a 6128. One of those several is a chum of yours.
Of course, said chum also has a VIC20. Who could it be?
qvodk isn't the right answer.
I love the idea of paying for something in kittens. Trolling down to the shops with a wheelbarrow of furry things like something from the Weimer Republic.
Only last night I was making plans to upgrade my laptop to 1GB RAM, and then you say this and I remember...
I remember the day when I was able to upgrade my ZX81 to a fearsome, red-hot operating spec of 64K RAM, done with the aid of a clunky thing that slotted in the back, and an elastic band to hold it in place.
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