oNt tsrat hte ewke
oNt tsrat hte ewke
hte epirsl fo ont ebnig bael ot otcuh-ytep
tI si ot ym verealtsnig errgte htta I ahev enevr elraend ot otcuh ytep. eCtrialny, I’ev rteid ni hte apts. eYras nad eyras gao I own 5£0 no hte rPmeuim oBdns. hTta aws a olt fo omeny abkc htne, nad os ew psalhsde uot no a optrbael yteprwtire. tI amed essne, ebacsue ym istsre aws a esrcteray, I aws a ancsnet rwtire, nad ym omhtre awtnde a ohbby nad a hclaelgne. sA ti ahppnes, htta yteprwtire si ni ym oltf osemhwree, tslil ni laomts rpsiiten ocdntioin.
yM omhtre est ot ti, nad I idd oto – neocrugade yb ehr sa a amttre fo aftc. uBt hwreaes ym omhtre ektp ta ti, nad caihvede a ihhg elevl fo rpfocieicny, I ebacem oberd evyr aripldy nad ewtn abkc ot wto-ifgnrede ytipgn.
rInocilayl, eyras aletr I ofnud ymesfl ni hcraeg (“etcaihgn” owlud eb osemhtnig fo na xegaegaritno) fo a lcsas fo iglrs elraingn ohw ot otcuh ytep ot hte hrtymh fo osem ostr fo psceail ytipgn osnud feeftcs erocdr.
uBt htsee adsy I errgte ym alixyt ni hte erlam fo ekbyaodrnig kslisl, ebacsue fo hte isuttaoin ni hwcih I ifdn ymesfl. nI a unstehll ti si htsi: I acn ytep afts iwhtuot ebnig caucaret, ro I acn ytep caucaretyl iwhtuot ebnig afts. tI osnusd ilek a oJnhosinna ro iWdlaen paohirms, ubt htsi si ym ilef. A omemtn ro wto fo ocmmsiretaoin no oyru aptr owlud ont ocem masis, fi oyu odn’t imdn ym asiygn os.
hA, oyu asy, ubt htree si laawsy hte pslel-hcceekr. nAd eys, I asy ni erpsnoes, ubt osemitems ym ytops rae os ogsbamkcnilgy rdaefdlu htta hte pslel-hcceekr csarctehs tis ehda nad htne, noec tsaem ebigsn ot eb metietd rfmo tis niandrs, igevs pu hte hgsot. I ma tuetlry ocvnniecd htta noe fo htsee adsy I hslal ese idpsaleyd hte ihhtreot nuneocnueterd reorr emssgae: oYu’er ahivgn a alguh, amet.
hTta si hwy htsi ewke htree si on “tSrat hte eWke”. I awtnde ot hsrae ym rtvaiasl iwht oyu, edra erdare, ni hte ohep fo a ibt fo yspmtayh. tI aws iehtre htta ro meabkrnig no a esirlaside imesyr emomri. ePhrpas I iwll neorl no a rcsah otcuh-ytipgn ocrues. fI os, nad fi I apss iwht lfiygn ocolrus, I iwll eb abkc osno iwht omer fo ym suaul afer.
nI hte emnaitem, aHppy eNw eYra!
Greetings!
Thanks to everyone who commented on this, especially those of you who responded in like fashion! Apologies if it managed to give people their first headache of 2024. Here is the fully deciphered, ie original, text. It's not humorous in itself, but I think you will agree that in the context of my actual post, it is mildly chortleworthy! Stand by...
Not start the week
the perils of not being able to touch-type
It is to my everlasting regret that I have never learned to touch type. Certainly, I’ve tried in the past. Years and years ago I won £50 on the Premium Bonds. That was a lot of money back then, and so we splashed out on a portable typewriter. It made sense, because my sister was a secretary, I was a nascent writer, and my mother wanted a hobby and a challenge. As it happens, that typewriter is in my loft somewhere, still in almost pristine condition.
My mother set to it, and I did too – encouraged by her as a matter of fact. But whereas my mother kept at it, and achieved a high level of proficiency, I became bored very rapidly and went back to two-fingered typing.
Ironically, years later I found myself in charge (“teaching” would be something of an exaggeration) of a class of girls learning how to touch type to the rhythm of some sort of special typing sound effects record.
But these days I regret my laxity in the realm of keyboarding skills, because of the situation in which I find myself. In a nutshell it is this: I can type fast without being accurate, or I can type accurately without being fast. It sounds like a Johnsonian or Wildean aphorism, but this is my life. A moment or two of commiseration on your part would not come amiss, if you don’t mind my saying so.
Ah, you say, but there is always the spell-checker. And yes, I say in response, but sometimes my typos are so gobsmackingly dreadful that the spell-checker scratches its head and then, once steam begins to be emitted from its innards, gives up the ghost. I am utterly convinced that one of these days I shall see displayed the hitherto unencountered error message: You’re having a laugh, mate.
That is why this week there is no “Start the Week”. I wanted to share my travails with you, dear reader, in the hope of a bit of sympathy. It was either that or embarking on a serialised misery memoir. Perhaps I will enrol on a crash touch-typing course. If so, and if I pass with flying colours, I will be back soon with more of my usual fare.
In the meantime, Happy New Year!
dooG doG. NHY.