The Computer is Personal Again.

Bollocks. Complete and utter. Let me explain.

A friend of mine recently purchased a shiny new HP home computer. ‘Twas a sight to behold. Lovely. Big. Shiny. My friend is many years my senior and I was brought ‘round to help because, quite frankly, I am younger and by default should know all about ‘puters. Which is bollocks, too.

Trust me. Youth indicates no more a capability for ‘puters than it does for atomic and molecular physics. Youth (I include myself in the demographic) is good for nothing.

Let me carry on. We get the thing out the box, plug it in and switch it on. Shazam, the power surges through and we see a beautiful hill of grass on-screen. Oh look. There's a tree.

We hear a gentile churning sound that seems to indicate that something magical is working inside. Steadily, small icons (see my lovely grasp of ‘puter lingo, here) pop up all over the grass hill, and things appear to be working.

Tens of little icons appear; little portals into worlds of digital mania. Wonderful. Fantastic.

Only. Everything. Everyting. Is in Spanish. Mierda.

Think you can easily find the button that says “change your language settings here” when the button that says “change your language settings here” is in the bloody language that you don’t understand?! Da Vinci bloody Code.

See where I’m going? Computer is personal again? My arse.

“I thought you knew all about ‘puters. You’re young.” My friend looks for reassurance.

“I know nowt about ‘puters. And what I know about Spanish is even worse.” I give him none.

Anyhow. We try some more. We look through the documentation that the kind HP folk have bestowed upon us. 6 manuals and 8 DVDs. I. Kid. You. Not. And all in English, but none in a language we understand. They talk about rebooting, operating systems and safe modes. May as well be in Spanish.

Trying to cope with our lingo nightmare, we do what all men generations before us have done. We toss the instructions into the bin and continue staring at the screen.

Thankfully, the word “Start” is still in English. But as we proceed to find no further guidance or success, the word itself becomes a taunt. An irritating form of sarcasm that the programmers at HP surely know about. Start?! Start what?! Enigma bloody machine.

We proceed to change every bloody setting on the ‘puter, hoping that one of them we stumble across could actually be the language one.

Currency is now the Zimbabwean dollar, the time zone is Central East Asia and all decimal places are set to minus six. Lovely versatility they offer you, here. But still. No language.

“What do you need a ‘puter for anyway?” I grumble at my friend.

“For surfing the interwebs” he replies, knowledgably.

And still. We stare at the screen.

Our trance is broken by a pop-up message that includes the words “error illegal”.

“Well, I think it’s broken.” I offer my best diagnosis.

“You’re good for nothing!” he moans.

“I know.”

“Want a beer?”

“Okay.”

Computer is personal again? My arse!