aforementioned Mr. Fawkes led a band of Catholic plotters into the Houses of Parliament in an attempt to blow up King James and the entire Protestant aristocracy. He failed, and was burnt at the stake for his troubles.

Despite his failure, we still celebrate the day with fireworks and bonfires, sometimes with an effigy of Guy Fawkes on the top. How we would have celebrated had he succeeded is anyone's guess! There is more pragmatism to the celebrations than there was in my youth, so in our village the main bonfire and firework display took place on the evening of the 4 th , as it was a weekend.

So I started back to work on the 5 th , and fireworks there were not! Fortunately I work from home, so my journey to work, from bedroom to office, a distance of some eight feet, was quite uneventful. I spent the morning staring mournfully at the pile of paper on my desk, and eventually shuffled it around so as to make enough space for my computer, which had spent the summer locked in a cupboard.

Eventually the computer and accompanying apparatus were assembled, the desk phone was plugged in, and the mobile phone was switched on. My computer demanded a user name and password; the user name was easy, the password less so. I don't bother to write these things down because I use them every day, or at least I did until seven months ago.

My efforts to dredge something from the depths of my brain came to naught, so I had to resort to the Technical Support Team, a pleasant bunch of lads based in Southampton. They took me through a very complicated process, involving reading sixteen digit numbers from my screen over the phone, and vice-versa, all of which failed dismally. Waiting for yet another call to be returned, I tried one last possibility and, amazingly, I was in. At least, I was in as far as the Windows page, which demanded another passport. That's enough for one day.

My second working day involved attending a regional conference, known in the trade as a "jolly" or a "free lunch." This was only a 25 mile drive, and meant I could meet my entire team in one fell swoop, and avoid several days of telling everyone what a wonderful summer I had had.

On the third day it was back to the computer, the missing password, and the Technical Support Team. Less compromising this time, they announced that the only way to crack this was to bring it to them. Bracing myself for a long drive to the south coast the following day, I suddenly realised that this was a password that they had set. So I applied the sort of logic that they use, and I was in.

This meant I could now get on line, and receive all my e-mails. Except that when I tried to get on line, I kept getting warning notes. Back to the Techies, who ran some tests, and announced that my router was knackered, and that they would send me a new one, which would arrive on Saturday. Meanwhile my mobile phone, also a work instrument, was losing power, so I tried to charge it, and it wouldn't charge. So I called my support team, who said they would put me a new one in the post.

This duly arrived, so I changed over the sim card, and used it for a while until it needed charging. This one wouldn't charge either so, being a logical person, I surmised that perhaps my charger was the problem. Another call to the support team, and a new charger was in the post.

By now the end of my first, very productive, week was nigh, so I gave up on work to concentrate on the weekend's festivities. My family was throwing me a "welcome home" party, to be attended by around thirty people from various parts of my past and present. I was permitted to help with the food preparation. As the food was to have a ballpark theme, my expertise in such matters was essential.

A splendid time was had by all, and we managed to produce hot dogs, chilli, bratwurst, tacos with cheesy dip (not quite as yellow as the genuine article), pulled pork sandwiches, and even made a reasonable stab at a Philly Cheesesteak. Sal had managed to find a diagram, on the web, of Philadelphia's famous "Schmitter", and partygoers were invited to transform their cheesesteak into this unique, and incredibly messy, ballpark sandwich. Thankfully, no one suggested we should drink American beer.

As is usual with our Saturday parties, there were still people around on Sunday, so the party effectively lasted until Sunday afternoon. The challenge of Monday lay in wait.

My router had arrived, so I wired it all up and, sweet as a nut, I got onto the web and into my e-mails; except I didn't have any. Back to the Techies, who sent me a test e-mail, which I failed to receive. They would have a think and call me back.

At this point I was visited by Joanna, who discovered that my office chair rotates. Work will probably never be the same again! She really is a fascinating child; when you hold her, she insists on facing away from you, so that she can be aware of what's going on. Also, if she is put on the floor with some toys, and feels she is being ignored, she will cough. If you cough back at her, she thinks it hilarious, and laughs and laughs. I am planning a trip to the bronchial ward of the local hospital, which I think she will really enjoy.

Tuesday I visited my doctor. There was nothing wrong, I just wanted to bring him up to date with stuff, and tell him about my detached retina. I had heard he had been off work himself and, when I enquired as to the state of his health, it turned out he had suffered two detached retinas (retinae?). We chatted happily for a while and, as I left, I informed him that the specialist in San Francisco who had checked me over had announced that my right eye did not have any problems.

Me and my big mouth! The following morning, as I was stepping into the shower, I noticed a small bubble in the corner of my right eye, oddly reminiscent of the one I had seen in my left eye back in May. Strangely calm, I phoned my doctor for another appointment, and called Sal to bring her home from work (she only works next door, so it's a reasonable journey).

In we strolled, and the doctor couldn't force back a grin. He said he wouldn't bother to examine me, as he was sure I knew what I was talking about; and anyway, he still couldn't see very well! So he phoned Oxford Eye Hospital and explained the situation. The response was inaudible to me, but he replied, "Tomorrow morning? Do you think that's appropriate? I would have been happier if you had offered him an appointment five minutes ago!" More mutterings from the other end of the phone, and he winked at me and said " 2.45 this afternoon; I'd take an overnight bag if it was me."

to be continued