Are Friends Electric?

While you were variously gazing into each others eyes, sipping wine in a local restaurant, or rowing on Valentine's Day, mrs househusbandnot was working late, and I decided to try and sort out some of my ongoing gadget needs.

There is the on-going ipod hell I am having whereby I have managed to download 2,016 songs onto my ipod but not through itunes, so the ipod is just registering them as 'other' rather than 'songs'. This is an on-going problem. And the more time I spend on it, the less accessible these missing songs seem to get. And yes I have reset the ipod settings, and yes I have moved itunes around to see if it can pick up the songs, and yes I have learned all 2,016 songs on the guitar and recorded them and stored them in a suitcase in the hall, and yes I am on the verge of flying out the States and bombing the Apple HQ.

And then there is that other hell of trying to get all your contacts from your old mobile onto your new one. "Just use the sim card," the guy in the shop said blithely. (His heart wasn't in it. I knew it wouldn't work.) Which it didn't. So I am wandering around with half my numbers on the new phone, and the other half dead on my old phone. Other new phone issues include putting the phone on speaker every time anyone calls, so I sound like I am in a wind tunnel when you call me, a button on the side of the phone which plays some Asian techno ditty by someone called Ravi every time I touch it, and - so far anyway - not having worked out how to stop the phone connecting to the Internet every time I look at it.

Elsewhere around the flat, our tv digital box thing died half way through Shameless the other night. So I need to go and buy a new one today. (I am also a little embarassed to say that I left a bad review of our existing box on a couple of sites yesterday. I know this is v geeky, but I had to vent my anger somewhere.)

I also spent a while yesterday trying to send mrs hhn an e Valentine's Card which promised that it would email her the card with a talking dog that would say anything I wanted it to. This process took approx far too long, and when the card was all set to go - with the loving message of "You are wrong, but I love you" - I was told that I was not signed up for this service.

On the you are wrong thing to mrs hhn, we had a 'debate' yesterday about whether bi-monthly meant every two weeks or every other month within the context of magazine production (I know. Pretty steamy sex talk huh?) With the secure knowledge that I have produced a lot of publications over the years, and the similarly secure knowledge that mrs hhn has produced none, I was convinced I was right on this one, which I wasn't, which sucked.