Charge of the Mac Brigade.

Spinny, spin, spin, spin, went the colour wheel on the screen of my MacBook Pro. Spinny, spin, spin, spin. Would it ever stop?

The answer to this question, unfortunately, was "no". After watching a myriad of shades rotate for a good - or bad - twenty minutes, I started to panic. 

The time had come to put my money where my mouth was (not literally; unhygienic); to call out the big boys (again, not literally; homoerotic); to plump for that last resort taken by so many before me - and switch it off and on again. 

From this point, things went from bad to worse. After an hour's-worth of furtive Googling on various internet-enabled devices, the horrible truth slowly began to dawn: a large chunk of the work stored on my computer could irretrievable forever. 

 (I'm being over-dramatic to keep you interested.)

The most important file I might have lost is mine and Glyn's stand-up show. The show that we're currently hawking around. A good couple-of-years-worth of work down the spout; no biggie, really. I can probably find a lot of the individual bits and bobs that make it up, but putting it back together could take ages. 

The problem is, a lot of our stuff is edited on the hoof. Because of this, I often forget to back things up as I go. That was my first mistake. 

(Idiot.) 

Hopefully, I'll be able to fix my Mac without losing too much. An emergency trip to the Apple Store on Regent Street today proved fruitless. I have an appointment at their Milton Keynes branch tomorrow afternoon; I'm keeping my fingers firmly crossed. 

If nothing else, this will give me an excuse to visit the location of the video shoot for Cliff Richard's Wired For Sound. Every cloud. 

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