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It’s the little stuff

April 20, 2011

This week, it really has been. Last Friday, faced its biggest crisis since the ‘great tea-trolley’ disaster of ’74. This time, it wasn’t gallons of Earl Grey seeping into the typing pool, nor digestive crumbs clogging the Gestetner duplicator…

No, it was a total failure on my part to do what I do around ten times every day…

No again, that’s what Mr P does around ten times every day…

No, and you can stop laughing, it isn’t that. For either Mr P or myself.

No, and not that either.
Nor that. Though come to think of it…

What it was, was that I forgot the master password that allows me access to the update process for the entire website.

It isn’t written down, and needn’t be, as I use it so often. Totally instinctively, each time the security box appears I key it in and get on with it. For some reason, though, last Friday morning, I dialled up the box – then just went blank. Totally, completely blank.

There is, so a psychologist tells me, a term for what happened. That is as maybe, but what I felt was an odd sense of panic… which doesn’t, for the record, assist you in recalling your password.

The oddity is, I wasn’t stressed at the time, just doing routine work. After a few minutes of sheer disbelief, the panic did set in. Suddenly, bits of the code came back to me… in the wrong order.

Continuing the 1974 theme, I found myself playing that famous game “Mastermind” (the one with the coloured pegs that go into holes until you match the combination hidden from you at the top of the board – not the one where a genetics laboratory releases specimens to sit in a chair and prove on TV that they don’t know as much about a subject they thought they’d studied as they thought they did.*)

Almost 30 minutes later, and two Word pages of combinations, I suddenly recalled what I’d been trying to key in all along. Two seconds after that, Theatremonkey was back in business.

All went swimmingly for the following few days, until yesterday afternoon (admittedly then I was tired) when a publicist asked if I’d push a competition ( for them. Not a problem, and I thought, ‘hmm, quite fancy taking part.’ Of course, a quick read of the rules later and I realised that, for the first time ever, I’m actually ruled out of it under the “nobody associated with the promotion can take part in it” clause. Odder still, the prize was theatre tickets… in the cold light of the next day and typing this, import / export of fossil fuel to Tyneside phrases spring to mind.

All this is, of course, just an elaborate way of leading up to the point that I can’t wait for the two breaks over the next two weekends. I’ll be off for the full 4 days of both, and can’t wait. Oh, and the next entry on here will be some time after Wills and Catherine finally get it together. Congratulations to them, and have a good rest to everybody else. See ya!

*Sorry: further clarification needed here: I’m not referring to ‘Newsnight,’ “The Andrew Neil Show’ or any other programme involving political interviews. I do mean the old quiz show with the spotlight, big chair and hairy occupants – both male and female.

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