In a modest kind of way I like to think of myself as vaguely technologically minded.

After all, I can spell "computer" and on a good day with the wind behind me I can manage "megabyte". I even understand what RAM stands for. At least I know what the initials mean, I haven't the least idea what the actual function is, but then no one is perfect.

All I know is that if I speak kindly to my lovely Apple Mac, nice clean copy comes out with the minimum of effort on my part to be sent off by my equally technological fax machine. We Apple Mac brigade had no worries over the Y2K. We were already using the four digit system and went round looking very superior when the lesser breeds were panicking over what might greet them after the New Year break.

So why am I feeling all shook up just now? It is all to do with the dreaded word internet. I have let myself be persuaded that I must enter the new century by becoming more computer literate, get myself some weird domain name and surf the world, scattering emails as I go. I am considered so old hat by my grandchildren as to be almost fit for the great world wide web in the sky where non-techie grannies go to give up their hard disks for ever.

I was rash enough to let a friend of mine loose on my machine with the promise of great things to come from a certain internet service provider (note the ease with which these arcane expressions trip off my tongue!).

Unfortunately my machine decided it had a severe case of memory loss and it could not find room in its brain for the new system. An expensive trip to the doctor provided it with a huge new chunk of memory (if only they could do the same thing for me!) and we started discussing the installation of the service provider.

"Ah," said the specialist, "I wouldn't use that one, try this one." So off we went to try a different system, only to be confronted by my bossy machine saying: "sorreee, don't want to play with that set of rules."

Several expensive helpline phone calls later seemed to suggest that somehow a bit of my Apple Mac's brain was adrift somewhere on the great ocean of information technology and needed to be caught in the net of the good doctor and then transferred to my machine. At a price, of course.

An attempt to fix an appointment for the brain implant went through the usual gamut of unreturned phone calls etc. But I am hopeful that next week might just see a convalescent computer and a gentle introduction to this internet thing by my computer-wise friend.

The trouble is he uses a PC, not a Mac, and has crashed my dear little machine several times so I am understandably protective. But I remain hopeful that some time soon I may join the band of, what the Argus in a recent article called, The Silver Surfers.

But If you are wise don't hold your breath. I may be gone some time.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.