Water Of Love

(Now there’s another blog post title I’ve nicked from a song title from the Jurassic age, when I was still young and beautiful. Go figure.)

Yesterday was one of those where you find yourself searching for the Reset button. When you start closing all the windows thinking that you might be able to pull the old Microsoft trick and restart the whole day.

On the plate: Hard disk change on my stationary computer, which is about as much of an IT heart transplant as it sounds, a task which turned out to include trying to find the power supply adapter cable that I hadn’t thought of. (I now know that SATA disks, which I am testing for the first time, require another power cable than ATAs. And that there are adaptors from the standard Molex. I wish I had known that when I bough the disk, though.)

And then our new car unexpectedly had to be hospitalised, leaving me on foot far from home. I’d taken it in to investigate a strange creaking noise which had been there since one of my family’s members (I have promised her not to divulge who) had a close encounter with a block of concrete, and the repairmen started talking about possible faults of a dimension that sent the cash tills ringing in the back of my head. Not to mention that I need the car to get to the computer shop to get the cable to be able to start working on the endless task of installing, connecting and bleeding water cooling pipes, formatting, partitioning, installing programmes and drivers and moving a three-figure Gigabyte amount of files.

In other words: Stuck.

However, things did change all of a sudden, in one of those ways where you thing that Someone up there is actually looking after me after all. Walking a long distance to the bus stop going home, I suddenly remembered that there was a computer shop right behind me. I went in and explained my ordeal in my pidgin Flemish.

“Oh dear”, said the computer shop guy, doubtfully shaking his head and diving into the cellar. From whence he emerged aome time later with a tiny plastic bag in his hand.

“It’s the last one!”

Back in business! Suddenly I was able to get things running. Collecting the kids from school turned out to be much easier than I thought; they didn’t mind the walk to the garage, and my Mrs came with me to help out. My understanding boss sent me some encouraging words. And the car turned out to have only minor damages which were nicely fixed at a fraction of what we had started fearing.

This general relief was probably why I let myself be dragged without the expected kicking and screaming to the local sports complex to go swimming. My wife used to be a semi-professional; I can’t swim. Hence a source of marital tension. But my six-year-old has been going there for a year with his school, and my four-year-old has recently shown interest, so I had grudgingly agreed to pay the place my first visit.

I must confess, was expecting to spend the next few hours shivering in something run-down and shoddy. After all, I’ve seen so many awful public areas in Belgium to learn not to expect very much, or maybe to have becom prejudiced, sorry to say. Not to mention that the water in every public bath I have been to – in Sweden at least – is usually kept at a temperature suitable for Greenland whales.

But it turned out to be the most brilliant, clean, neat, modern, well-kept and pleasant set of indoor pools I have visited; with some nice features I haven’t seen anywhere else. Refurbished only four years ago! Large windows! Tastefully designed! Hot showers! And warm water in the pools!

My six-year-old was very happy to show Daddy around for the first time, my four-year-old didn’t want to go home, my wife was happily trawling around in the pro pool, and life was suddenly very pleasant again indeed.

I suppose that’s where I got the strength to start wrestling with the computer again, which I did until about 04.30 this morning.


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