After going to sleep a bit late the night before, I woke up a bit later today, but had finished both by 1 in the afternoon.

After weeks of trying to figure out what was wrong with the computer through e-mailing the company which had sold it to me, I decided to take it to a computer specialist in Trelew which was recommended to me by one of Howys friends, and dropped it off there in the middle of the afternoon to pick it up in the early evening.

Still on my �to-do�list were the translations for the Youth Eisteddfod, so I sat down with my first drafts and with the vocabulary that I�d got from the dictionary at the library and re-wrote what I already had. Still not happy with it, but at least I can recognise which language I�m writing in now!

Also, after spending a week or two procrastinating about it, I finally booked the hotel for Emma and me in Buenos Aires, just off 9 de Julio, the 22-lane motorway that runs through the middle of the city. At least, location-wise it�s quite central, and not that expensive either.

Short of breath, and more nervous than walking onto the stage, I went into the computer shop just after 7:30 where I was told the bad news. "Your computer doesn�t work," the guy explained. Yes, and...

"Well, it�s not your power supply, I�ve tried that. It�s something inside the computer, but I don�t know what and I�m not familiar with this type of laptop, you might be able to find someone to fix it in Buenos Aires or Comodoro Rivadavia." Hmm. Great.

An hour or two of soul-searching. How much do I need the computer? What do I do with it? Can I get away with just spending hours of my time in an internet cafe "working"? Is that easier than trying to get the damned lump of plastic fixed? Where can I play my CDs? So many questions - it feels like a Borges story. So I went home and read some Borges. It didn�t cheer me up.