I want to fuck all the computer breaking gods in bins.

So I’ve come to Mallorca to write a book, a hare-brained fuckfaced scheme if ever there was one. And there was one, last year in fact, when I came to Mallorca and failed to write a book after failing to write three books in Paris. Prior to that I spent a decade not writing books in lots of places. There may be something wrong with me – something terrible. Wonderful, yet terrible.

So I’ve come to Mallorca to write a book. Naturally, I’m not writing a book. You probably knew that, knew it before I did. This non book writing isn’t down to laziness, a lack of moral fibre or shrinking inspiration. Not really. The gods must have been smiling at me because they beat up my computer the minute I arrived.

“The hard drive has gone,” explained the man in the computer shop.

“Oof,” I said, playing along. “Tricky.”


“Does that mean it can’t be fixed?” I said, hopefully.

“No, no, I can fix the hard drive,” he said, as I started to go for his throat, “but the fan has gone. And this bit here” – I looked at that bit there – “and this. You need a new machine, really. It’s not worth fixing this.”

“But I can’t buy a new machine,” I beamed. “I mean computer. A computer machine. I can’t afford it – I HAVEN’T GOT THE MONEY.” And off I danced, like a maniac.

So I’ve come to Mallorca to write a book and have ended up building flowerbeds and spreading clay on tennis courts. I have no idea how this has happened, but am delighted by the turn of events. Who the hell wants to go around writing books? Not me. Not yet. I want to be building flowerbeds and spreading clay on tennis courts.

Where does this leave us? I mean, it’s been a while. (In case you’re wondering, the air conditioning unit is still there, still whirring away.) Well, I write things now and again and have managed to drudge up a weekly column every week for the last six months. That’s something. And if I somehow manage to summon up a computer from somewhere then I suppose I’ll have to write that book. That’s something, too. And once I get tired of building flowerbeds and spreading clay on tennis courts – tomorrow, probably, or Monday – then I’ll no doubt have the appetite for writing for a living again.

Good this, isn’t it?


10 responses to “I want to fuck all the computer breaking gods in bins.

  1. Ah, procrastination….you could write a book on it!
    Don’t forget I’m on a double pre order mister!
    Good luck……

    • I haven’t forgotten about the double order Mrs. Thank you. Guess what? I’ve now got a computer that isn’t broken. That means this book’s definitely going to be written in no time at all.

  2. Pitchy, welcome back! Get off your fucking arse and write your book, stop poncing around with flower beds and tennis courts – you can do that once the book is published. Did you know it is possible to write a book without a computer? Not easy, but possible. I think even Charles Dickens managed without one.
    Did that sound harsh? It wasn’t meant to. I’m very pleased you’re back, not dead, and actively seeking computer gods to fuck in bins. Normal service resumed.
    Mya x

    • It sounded reasonably harsh but I like reasonably harsh Mya, especially if it’s coming from you. Particularly liked “stop poncing around with flower beds and tennis courts.” I have now, I think.

  3. ahhh!! old pitchy pitcherson! thought/hoped you had given up for good, but here i am on my computer machine reading about your flower beds antics/ bed/ tall flower bed.we are closed now, but might see you in one of those gin joints.

  4. Ah, Dr Wharmby. I’m not there any more. But I might be there next week, in which case, yes, gin joints.

  5. Do not conform any longer to the patterns of the world, but be transformed by the renewing of the mind.
    Romans 12:2

  6. Could you fuck yourself in a bin perhaps? Or does it only work if you are with someone? I couldn’t fuck myself in a bin because I would worry too much about the left over broken super noodles. Please don’t fuck in a bin Pitchy and please write some more PTW.

  7. For some reason I had the urge to click on the site today and, would you believe it, it’s only a year, to the day, since your last post. Freaky, isn’t it? Best.Blog.Ever

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