'Why have you got a new laptop?' I hear you all dying to know.

Well, ever since Windy Sunday and the Glass of Water that Didn't Get on with Gravity (TM) my old laptop was never the same. I solved the broken spacebar with the USB keyboard but I also couldn't highlight text if I wanted to copy and paste something, and Flash was always fucking up (which is a pain when you want to take your go at Scrabulous).

But that's not what made me get a replacement. In my infinite wisdom I decided I could solve all its problems, world hunger, war and terrorism by simply resetting everything to a time before the water incident. (Seriously, I thought it would just be like computer time travel and everything would work again.) I chose a date in June and off we went. Only the journey was taking a bit longer than I expected, I lost patience and switched it off.

Can I just say, NEVER EVER EVER DO THIS. It then wouldn't boot up and all I would get was my background and nothing else. I went out to see if I could find someone to fix it (and, by the way, it is slightly embarrassing when you take your buggered up laptop to PC World and some fit dude looking at what's wrong gets to see your desktop background of a massive otter staring back at him). But anyway, they said I would need the original discs. I did not have these.

So enough was enough and here we are.

Socially I've been really busy lately. I went out with Katie and others last night. The alternative/heavy metal pub with live music ended up kicking us and everyone else out due to a complete power cut, so we ended up in the shitty Chicago's much to my dismay, but it was alright.

I spent Friday night round Tori and Pete's with, um, Tori and Pete, watching Drop Dead Fred (Phoebe Cates is a stenographer in it and I never realised!), stayed over and on Saturday morning baked Dennis the Menace cupcakes with Tori. In less than two weeks she'll be a married woman but I suppose it doesn't mean she's too old for making Dennis the Menace cupcakes. Thank fuck.

We also went to the newsagent to buy a paper and what can I say? Seeing Barry George and MY court case on the front page of every single newspaper was just bizarre. One of the Old Bailey journos used to joke and ask who would play me in the Barry George film (he suggested Keira Knightley, which would improve my looks by about 18 million percent. I wouldn't complain), but maybe they will actually make a film now. Imagine!

Anyway, out with the old and in with the new and all that.

This entry has gone on far too long. I write sparsely for a few months and then inflict a wafflesome essay on my poor diary.

I am hoping my next offering won't be about how I gave myself food poisoning and achieved new feats in the projectile vomiting stakes. If you're going to poach eggs for breakfast I don't suggest doing so using a weird metal ladel, assuming merely guessing how long they've been cooking for is a trusty method and, worse, not even knowing how long they're meant to cook for in the first place. Ugh.

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