I Killed my computer

That's odd, you might say, as you clearly haven't or you wouldn't have posted this.

    About one o'clock this afternoon my XP machine suffered a terminal seizure and packed up. Not with a roar but a timid little phut, and it's taken me nearly seven hours to fix it. And even after I'd done that, it's been a real pig to find a copy of Service pack 3 without half a ton of toolbars and annoy-you-to-death ware. I'm currently downloading about ten petabyte of all the XP stuff I had before but now have to get all over again. I would happily have throttled the thing myself but I'll be buggered if I'm buying Windows 8 or 8.1 or whatever other mutant variants they bring out in the interim. If I can just keeping the old crone hobbling on until Windows 10 then I'll be content. 

   On the plus side I did manage to get some more writing done on my 486 clockwork machine whilst I was waiting, so here is the hopefully last - first page of Kongomato 3 - Progeny of Kongomato. I often find the first page as difficult to write as the rest of the book.

Next day. And it's still downloading - stuff. Given that there's only (theoretically) an Epic byte of storage in the entire world (10 48th bytes) I hope it stops soon. I've only got a paltry half terabyte disc and I've taken up almost half of that already - just with windows and my legal copy of Word. I wonder what else is flowing into my machine.

The famous gothic tower canted at an impossible angle. Accidental assaults by remotely controlled drones aided by the acidic droppings of giant flying lizards were placing unsustainable strain on the foundations. Soon Big Ben, the enormous bell within would toll one last time as the British landmark plummeted to the ground destroying the equally neglected Houses of Parliament below.

    This would cause no undue concern. In fact it would provoke no reaction of any kind since all civilised life in London was long departed. Now all that lived beneath the tower were the lowest form of insects, feverishly hiding from the dominant form of life: enormous winged beasts prowling the sky with ceaseless energy and unquenchable hunger. Yet the eyes gazing jealously to the east were not interested in this incredible sight, nor did they spare a glance for the London Eye, a giant Ferris wheel cleverly constructed from taught steel fingers, woven tightly enough for the whole structure to stand as if by magic and once thrilling vast numbers of tourists. Nor did they notice the rotting carcass of one such creature welded and spliced between the woven steel bands in the darkened city deprived of all electricity.

    Perhaps the same creature had dealt the famous tower its mortal blow. If it had nobody would know, or care.

   These eyes feasted on a far more interesting and potentially lucrative prize. Fastened greedily upon the one place the rampaging creatures not invade.