Sorry for the repetition but why, oh why, oh why do things you can't live without break down during public holidays, in the early hours or at weekends?

What day was it last year when we discovered the lavatory wouldn't flush and friends we'd invited round for drinks had just arrived?

It was Christmas Eve, of course, and have you ever tried to get a plumber - drunk or sober - to come round on Christmas Eve?

What time was it when the freezer decided to pack up and take early retirement, leaving pools of water on the kitchen floor? It was midnight, that's when.

And why did my computer, which had been working perfectly well and efficiently all through last week, behave completely irrationally on Saturday morning when I had other plans for the day?

I put it down to spite. Yes, I know a computer, like a lavatory and a freezer, is an inanimate object but sometimes don't you wonder whether some inanimate objects harbour malevolent spirits?

The Mother asked me why I actually needed my computer at the weekend when I'd told her I was going shopping on Saturday and out to lunch (and possibly supper) on Sunday.

"Because I have emails to send and receive. That's how I keep in touch with the outside world," I told her. "And I've got my column to write."

"Well let me have a look at it," she said.

I've never liked the word gobsmacked but on this occasion I was, well and truly.

"Keep away," I replied. "I don't wish to be rude but you're as welcome around my computer as next door's cat is in my garden."

I then did what I always do on these occasions - worked myself into a tizzy trying to get help for my new technology.

I phoned the shop where I'd bought the computer. The shop had sold me the equipment with the proud boast that they were open seven days a week and always had a computer engineer on standby.

The lack of interest in my predicament should not have surprised me.

"Nah, the engineer's only here Mondays to Fridays now and he's been on holiday so there's a big backlog of work," said a voice stifling a yawn. "When could he look at it? Oh, not for another week at least."

In the background I could hear the babble of conversation as other, newer, customers were being enticed to part with their dosh.

I rang a friend who suggested a couple of firms she'd used when having a computer crisis. But there was no reply from either. Well, it was the weekend wasn't it?

Defeated, I sat in my office (small desk next to a chest of drawers in my bedroom actually) and thought about crying.

Then I found a few sheets of paper and a Biro and started to write.

"What are you doing now?" said The Mother, standing in the doorway.

"I'm painting the town red, can't you see?" I said bitterly.

You're writing your column aren't you?" she said. "Wouldn't it be easier using your computer?

Before I could snarl a reply, she added: "And this?" In her hand she held a mouse, the computer's mouse.

"It wasn't attached to the computer. The lead had come loose," she explained.

"It has happened before, hasn't it? And when you mentioned next door's cat, well it reminded me so I went to check and I was right, wasn't I?"

She was indeed. I now intend to set her up in business. Not only is she invariably right but she also happens to work weekends.