Jessica and I have had something of a falling out.
"Turn left," said Jessica somewhere near Southwark yesterday afternoon. I turned left.
"Recalculating," said Jessica.
"No, Jessica. That's not fair," said I. "You said to turn left, and I turned left. Why are you recalculating?"
Jessica's recalculating bar edged slowly up from 0% to 95%. As it finally reached 100%, she clearly realised that in the time it had taken her to recalculate, I'd shot past the turning she wanted me to take. "Recalculating," she tutted again. This went on for no fewer than three painfully slow recalculations.
I threatened to upgrade her, but she knows that I've got no money for gadgetry at the moment. I needed to get to Kingston. She totally had the upper hand. I considered drowning her in some Cherry Coke when we got to the pub, but I also needed to get back to London again after my gig. On the way home she tried to make me turn the wrong way up a one-way street. She did this once before and got me stopped by the Police.
Jessica is a maniuplative minx. Sometimes I miss Jeremy.
For those of you who are visiting the Plog for the first time, you won't have a clue what I'm talking about. Never mind. Two questions: Are you male, and will you marry me?
This week's mental for me work-wise - will update when I can.
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