“Do not offer me any help!”, I declared to Dave as I swept dramatically into his office one night. “If this blogging lark is going to work I want to learn it all by myself and become an Improved Person.”
Dave looked up, puzzled. “But I haven’t offered” he said.
“Well, just don’t, OK”, said I, slightly thrown and cross at that fact, but still able to sweep majestically out again. (The ability to maintain one’s composure and the correct mien are terribly, terribly important in life, don’t you feel?)
However, I may be ruing those rash words only several days into the project. I tried to add a Scotblogs link button to the side. It worked and was added, but for the love of all things holy (and I did invoke both God’s and Jesus’s names several types, during the process, along with some minor saints. Is there a Patron Saint of Blogging?) the silly button won’t go where I tell it to.
So there it lies, (look right and down a bit) kind of out of line with all the other neat buttons who know how to behave. Is it a Scottish thing? I’ll never conform to your html code, NEVER! And besides, FREEDOM! etc.
I’ve been labouring for hours at this, in between wiping runny noses, and feeding the hordes, and I even attempted it while a bit squiffy last night. The squiffed up brain, I thought fuzzily (and happily) may be just what’s needed for this particular problem. But to no avail. I have only one trick left to try and that is to drag a wee magnet across the screen and shout at it, in the hope of finally aligning my Scotblog button.
If anybody can tell me what a 404PHP template is and whether that will help me, please advise. My hair is standing on end and it’s affecting my cooking. MICHEEEEEEEEEELLE! Help me! Otherwise I’m going to have to hire a computer worm to crawl across the screen to physically push the sodding thing to where it looks purdy, so as I don’t look like such a dork: “Problemchildbride? Oh yeah!, (snigger) she’s the one who can’t even get her buttons straight.”
If I just can’t figure this out I’m going to have to swallow my pride and go sheepishly up to Dave’s office for help. I have a whole stomachful of swallowed pride as it is and Dave is quite used to seeing me appear in the doorway with a screwdriver in one hand and a paraplegic dolly or disassembled electronic toy that went “ping’ and “sigh” and stopped working, in the other. Me swallowing my pride is something we’re both used to and can be quite matter of fact about now.
S: “Can you take a look at…?”
D: “What did you…?”
S: “I just tried to…”
D: “OK, let me see…”