Vatta

Vatta is my alter ego. Last year I wrote about my virtual team. Satnav Jane, Elsa the big red BMW motorcycle, Vatta and I. Vatta is sweet, thoughtful, dreamy, magical, and completely crazy. When he is piloting Elsa they make poetry together. Vatta loves Elsa, and I think it is he who found the ghost in the machine. Vatta isn't sensible or serious, ever. He causes most of the problems that I am the author of, and he usually solves them as well, but in his own weird way. If I don't have work to do, or a book to read, I write this stuff. We play sometimes.

Six days to go. Vatta is quiet. I leave him alone with his sadness, hoping he will snap out of it soon. If not he will travel with us as a passenger in the hope that he will heal along the way. Satnav Jane and Elsa are ready. Elsa just needs a new front boot, to be fitted on Tuesday. I am almost there myself. Tired but OK.

I caught Vatta weaving something furtively this morning. It was a reality patch. He used one last year to make the helicopter ride which replaced the Norwegian speeding fine on the approach to Nordkapp. It's his magic. Worryingly when he realised I was paying attention he slipped it into a small biscuit tin and closed the lid. Not before I saw that his tin was full of them. He has been very busy indeed.

I should be writing this on my new HP Mini, but keep lapsing into old habits. This gas driven desk top is old and familiar. The Mini still feels awkward, but I'll get to know it.