Now I know I'm getting old. How do I know? Well sit down comfortably and I'll begin.

Exhibit A is a pretty ordinary computer printer, an cream coloured plastic box with a couple of slots and a mind of its own. Even when plugged in, it sits there resolutely doing nothing. Somewhere on the featureless surface of the box is a button that brings this reluctant technological wonder to life.

Somewhere...

I know there's a 'start' button on this thing...

For a moment, I nearly resorted to reading the manual. If anything comes close to a rejection of honourable manhood, reading the manual is definitely right there like getting caight in private with a centrefold and a test tube. Which of course I know nothing about.

Can we get on with the story, please?

Okay, my search for the 'start' button didn't go unnoticed. One by one the other males in the office wandered over and started poking and pointing in an oddly competitive effort to be first to uncover the arcane means by which my plastic friend reacts to external stimuli.

Eureka! I found it! Yes! Nonetheless my clumsy and ineffectual attempts at utilising conumser electrical goods isn't something I'm used to. There was a time that no technological device was beyond my enquiring mind. You know what I'm talking about.

It's a bit worrying because at this rate I'll be unable to change channels on my television in ten years time. I might be stuck watching the shopping channels for the rest of my life, helpless to find alternative and intelligent viewing. No wonder peope become vegetables in old age.

More About The Letter

Having been threatened with having my money stopped, I set about putting the world to rights. I can't run faster than a speeding locomotive or leap tall buildings in a single bound, so maybe wearing underpants outside my trousers isn't such a good idea. However, an injustice is in danger of being perpetrated, so Caldrailman is on the case.

It turns out that one vacancy given to me has been listed as "Not Applied For". Nonsense. I remember filling in their application form and handing it to the lady at the front desk to be sent off. I have an email from the employer apologising for rejecting the application and explaining the vacancy had aleady been filled.

My grim determination must have been obvious. Even the security guard thought twice about challenging me as I strode past him, smouldering like a steam engine. Even the office boss glanced at me and made a rapid retreat.

There you go. Technology to the rescue. My emails reveal my evidence. Vacancy applied for. Now pay up please and stop demotivating me with threats of poverty.