The un-wonder of modern technology and paperclip fantasies

I always like Thursday. It's so close to Friday that you can almost pretend it's the weekend!

Yesterday we had a computer  switchover at work.  All our old computers were taken away and replaced by ones that look exactly the same. Apparently though, they are so much better, they are going to revolutionise our lives.  The biggest problem I can see, is that everyone now has an identical laptop and we share such a big room, that I'm not sure how we are going to know which ones belong to who.  So while I was having  the amazing things I can now do at the touch of a finger explained to me , I was daydreaming about the patterns I could paint on the cover in sparkly silver nail varnish.  The technicians were very patient  as they showed us how to make video calls and stood by as  we spent 10 minutes video chatting with the person sitting next to us, But when they had left, the switchover mostly successful,  I was left standing alone in a huge room, scattered with shiny black laptops.  And I couldn't help pining.  Imagining surfaces scattered with different coloured  notepads, pots of pens, piles of paperclips.  Because each of those things tells you a little bit about the person who uses it.  Why did someone choose a purple, spiral pad while someone else chose a loose leaf notebook with holes in it.  And why does that person  always uses ink pens instead of  biros.  And what about the person who has a series of matching notepads all labelled and lined up in neat rows, while someone else just rips out pages and leaves the notes scattered, randomly near where they sit.  An office full of PCs and laptops looks smart and efficient and connects us to the rest of the world in milliseconds but it tells you nothing about the people who work there.   They could be anyone, working anywhere. The more efficient and  technologically modern we become, the harder we have to fight to remember who we are.
So today I will sit in front of my laptop, dreaming of notepads and fountain pens as I  paint sparkly silver stars and rainbows all over the cover.

The Christmas parties in the Nursery and Children's Centre are looming and we are desperately trying to find our Father Christmas costume. And I remember the Christmas party at the Nursery when Joss  was 3.  Bells jingled and the headteacher cupped her hand round her ears.
" Listen," she said, " can you hear the bells. Can you hear the footsteps on the roof.  I wonder who it is."
The children listened,  holding their breath, eyes sparkling.
Bursting with excitement, one of the boys started jumping up and down.
" I know, I know who it is," he shouted out, " it's Spiderman!"