The family of the young woman dying in hospital came to the Eucharist this morning. This was to give me an opportunity to meet her daughters ahead of the day they're all dreading. The people of St John's, not to mention the building itself, enfolded them and offered them a little peace and respite from their grief. She's changed her mind and now wants the funeral to be from St John's. I think that will be a blessing for all.
After evensong, much to my distress, Richard presented me with a list of proof corrections. I had secretly hoped this was all behind me, but his experienced eagle eyes trapped the flaws. The real worry for me is whether or not my edition of Publisher will load the necessary master file, as it has proved most unreliable installed on top of the hated Windows Vista. If it won't behave, I'll have all sorts of hassle, and will have to book time of my son's home computer, where it still runs flawlessly under XP with less memory. Will this nightmare never end, I wonder? And mroe importantly, what will the printer say when I beg for a second try?
After this bitter blow to my ego and complacency, I want to an Italian restaurant in the Brewery Quarter to share a meal with a group of colleagues to say farewell to Bay Chaplain Monica Mills, who is moving to a new 'retirement' job in Lymington. It was a pleasant occasion, although it was hard to concentrate of being convivial with the prospect of having to sort out these corrections haunting me. I hope this is not going to be the last straw that breaks the camel's back.
There are times when computers drive me utterly mad, and I wish I'd never bothered with them. But only some times.
After evensong, much to my distress, Richard presented me with a list of proof corrections. I had secretly hoped this was all behind me, but his experienced eagle eyes trapped the flaws. The real worry for me is whether or not my edition of Publisher will load the necessary master file, as it has proved most unreliable installed on top of the hated Windows Vista. If it won't behave, I'll have all sorts of hassle, and will have to book time of my son's home computer, where it still runs flawlessly under XP with less memory. Will this nightmare never end, I wonder? And mroe importantly, what will the printer say when I beg for a second try?
After this bitter blow to my ego and complacency, I want to an Italian restaurant in the Brewery Quarter to share a meal with a group of colleagues to say farewell to Bay Chaplain Monica Mills, who is moving to a new 'retirement' job in Lymington. It was a pleasant occasion, although it was hard to concentrate of being convivial with the prospect of having to sort out these corrections haunting me. I hope this is not going to be the last straw that breaks the camel's back.
There are times when computers drive me utterly mad, and I wish I'd never bothered with them. But only some times.
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