Thursday, 1 April 2010
I should be hearing more from my dad now that it has occurred to me to e-mail him in spite of his restricted vision. Being of the old school, he feels honour-bound to acknowledge an e-mail even though it may take him two days to locate his cursor and find his way around the screen. As usual, his missive is full of apologies for all his imagined but intrenched inadequacies and the general woes of his frustrating life. I find an ulterior motive though which has elicited this fairly quick response to my snail-mail letter which he received last week (separate copies for himself and my mother so that neither can accuse the other of having secreted it away somewhere). He wants me to e-mail him an A4 size colourful photograph so that he can test his new ink cartridge. He goes through an alarming amount of these but never manages to print anything - he claims the ink is always dried up. He forgets that he only tries to print once in six months. The fate of the last cartridge is of interest: in a desperate bid to get it to work he put it in the oven at 40 degrees C. At least he thinks he did. Unfortunately, his eyes could not pick up that the oven was set on microwave, not convection, and so in a very short time, the cartridge caught fire. I think he must spend a fair whack of his pension on ink. I can imagine what my mother said about the state of the oven.