A month after our new home computer was delivered, my husband announced he was ready to switch it on.

He'd spent the previous weeks swotting up on Windows XP - the operating system already loaded on to our machine - with a view to knowing what he was doing when the important moment came.

I happened to be in the kitchen when he performed the ceremony in our spare bedroom.

And I'm glad I was. Because, clearly, something was wrong. I heard some swearing, a door slamming and then feet thundering down the stairs.

"It's not working," he fumed, marching over to the tool cupboard.

"I don't think a hammer will fix it," I said, rather unwisely.

"Thanks for your advice," he said, flinging open the door and grabbing a selection of fuses and screwdrivers.

I followed him upstairs and, from a safe distance, watched the scene.

First he tried changing the fuse in the computer's plug but still nothing happened.

Then he rang up the company that had supplied us with the computer and spoke tersely to their technical staff.

"You've sent us this computer with no instructions," he complained.

The voice at the other end of the line must have said something about it being a very simple system that doesn't require a manual because my husband came out with: "It might be simple but you're talking to a Luddite."

The voice obviously then mentioned something about a switch to flick on the back of the computer's disc drive because my husband crawled under the desk and, hey presto, a buzzing and a whirring indicated the computer had burst into life.

The celebrations were short-lived. A few minutes later, he was back on the phone to the technical staff.

"The speakers don't work and I seem to have too many of them."

The voice talked him through a few more lead and socket connections and then asked if he could send back the spare speakers. "Excuse me but only if you pay for the stamps," my husband pointed out crossly.

Finally, he tried dialling up our internet connection, only to discover that we had not been supplied with a cable to plug into the phoneline. The company's receptionist, quite rightly, received another ear-bashing.

"Can you believe it?" my husband said to me.

"Yes, I can," I sighed.

I then reminded him that the first time I bought a laptop computer from a dodgy shop in Tottenham Court Road, I had to take it back two days later because of a malfunction with the hard drive.

The second laptop I bought, to replace the first that had been in collision with a bottle of wine, came with a mean virus that wiped out all my data. In fact, every time I have bought a new piece of computer equipment, I've had difficulties.

"It might be the norm but that doesn't make it right," raged my husband.

The next day, the modem cable arrived in the post and we tried to connect up with an internet service provider.

It took three attempts and several angry calls to other techies before we had successfully registered.

"I've a good mind to send back the damn thing and cancel our internet account," said my husband, finding solace in a packet of chocolate chip cookies.

"But we're there now," I pointed out. "Let's put this behind us. Besides, you've read all about Windows XP. What do we first?"

"I haven't the foggiest," he moaned.