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I have a new HP mini.

For months I've been dreaming aloud about a new netbook that had the battery life and bigger screen and keyboard to make my worklife easier. Quite a few friends were aware of this - I'm afraid I dreamed very loudly. Whenever my finances belly-flopped it was something that I used to keep me going. "When I'm financial," I said, and said again, "These are the specifications I shall have in my new handbag-computer." I love having a computer in my handbag. It means I can work anywhere.

I have adored my eeepc, but I knew its limitations (it came from the second netbook shipload into Australia: it's not young), and so I dreamed. A great deal. I was, in fact, saving for it. I think the order of my savings was air travel to Europe, accommodation, conference and masterclass costs, land transport, food, then computer, then luxuries - I was getting closer and closer to the computer - other friends gave me food money and the Montpellier to London flight, you see, again for my birthday. Having a major birthday was rather well timed and I am - as I keep on saying - just extraordinarily fortunate in my friends.

The group of friends who took me to the Yacht Club on Monday gave me the HP mini. Lesley and Griff make me part of their family for Christmas every year - this was a family present.

I've been giving the mini a run-in yesterday and today and it's totally wonderful. I've been writing novel on it using my desk slope. It doesn't cause my RSI to act up nearly as much as the smaller eeepc and I run out of energy before the battery does. I have space for 9 piles of paper notes around it, which makes it far easier to keep my mind in order than when I work at the normal desk. I should be able to take computer notes the whole of each day of masterclass and conference with no problems, plus work on my study in the evenings alone in France.

And, before you think "Aren't all her friends practical - doesn't she get life's luxuries?" Emma knitted me a silk lace shawl. It's a gorgeous dusky pink and I promised her a picture of me wearing it.

I don't get much in the way of large presents normally. My family is not that way inclined. My fiftieth and my amazing friends have made up for years of wondering what it would be like to have big gifts. I've discovered what I always knew. It's not the size of the gift - it's the warmth and love that's delivered with it. And that's the real magic of my fiftieth (and my actual celebration is still to come!) - discovering how very rich I am in friends who listen and care and are happy to have me round. I feel much less worried about travelling, because I carry all this love with me. I also feel much less worried about the next fifty years, because I have the most wonderful people to keep me company.

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Today is a bit exciting. Mostly this is because I have a very impressive fever. I keep going back to bed and having fever dreams. I'm calling it the birthday flu, because most of the friends I saw on Monday also have virii. Mine is the least ugly of them and my symptoms are the least foul.

In other news, still no birth certificate, although I received a most amazing review book in its stead. This means I have all the books I need to write BiblioBuffet articles right up to Conflux. This means I can do that next week and the week after and be finished with yet another batch of 'must dos.' I have a bunch of more-or-less historically based spec fic books for one article, and am conducting more interviews, to boot.

Having mentioned Conflux, I ought to say (one last time) that people have until tonight to get entries in for the Conflux workshop competition. Title and subject description. The chosen one gets free entry to the workshop. I'll be back from my month of Very Medieval stuff and will be totally chockers with Medieval, world-building and time-travel stuff, if anyone wants hints. I've also been researching writing techniques to do with character relations with a foreign environment. Comments to this post will do fine for entry - I'll just copy and paste them into a document for the committee to look at.

And in other, other news... sorry, I'm not going there.

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Today becomes odder and odder. I'll step back into normal reality tomorrow. Right now, I have to say goodbye to someone. Since I missed saying it personally, I'm saying it here.

There are some people who are so much part of our lives that - even when we don't see them from year-end to year-end - just knowing they're around makes the trials of everyday endurable and even safe. Uncle Effie was my father's best friend and I just can't imagine him not being there, making wry jokes and smiling at me. We never talked much, because it was his wife with whom I could chat. I was, in fact, rather shy of him. But Uncle Effie was there, always, solid, reassuring, sensible. He was one of the cornerstones of my existence.

Dad used to go to synagogue for three things: to hear the sermon, to have a nap, and to chat with Uncle Effie. This is what he claimed, anyhow. He often slept during the sermon. He always had his time with Uncle Effie, however. Uncle Effie was his best man and the Ehrmann household was an extension of our own when we were little. They were there, always.

Uncle Effie gave me the gift of the dignity of prayer. He allowed me to laugh. He wasn't worried that I wasn't a perfect child and he supported everything I did, quietly, without a fuss. He and Dad discussed my teeth at excruciating length, often. I saw him glance at me across the coffee table at afternoon tea and stand up, and I readied myself to open my mouth, wide, so that he could take a look.

The Charnwood Grove synagogue is full of memories for me. My family has been members since it was built. When the family drifted elsewhere, whenever I went there was still Uncle Effie, who always made time for me and gave my love to his family. We'd remember Dad and miss him together.

Next time I'm in Melbourne I shall visit Charnwood Grove and remember him, spiffy in his tall black hat, walking, long and slender and dignified, to Dad's seat right at the back (Dad refused to sit anywhere where he could be seen napping - he was honest in his lack of devout religion and in his friendships, both) so that Dad could emerge at the end of the service, full of gossip and the company of friends.

Maybe after that visit I'll be ready to say goodbye. I'm not ready for that, yet.