Greetings from my bed.

Or rather, from me, sitting on my bed. And that’s significant – because it means I am no longer crouched on my flatmate’s bedroom floor, metres from the wireless router. Which in turn means that things are fixed.

The meenister came round this evening, and left not long ago, after praying over the router, exorcising my laptop, and dousing the phone socket in holy water. Actually, that’s not strictly true – he mucked about under the proverbial bonnet of the router and my laptop, and it’s now working.

I’ll not bore you with the technical reasons (largely because I don’t understand), but it was, as many folk have suggested, just a case of changing the channel.

So I am now fully operative and connected, which is nice. And I am supremely grateful to David for his help in what was a busy day for him.

I wonder what else they teach people at Episcopalian boot camp?