Mrs O attempted to turn on our aged and infirm Macintosh computer the other day, and instead of wearily booting, it coughed up some digital blood and shuffled off this mortal etc. This is no massive surprise as it's had a good desktop innings. Unfortunately, as JL pointed out to us before being shot by a maniac, life is what happens to you while you're busy making plans. In accordance with this law, I had been planning to back-up the Mac for some time. I didn't. I must point out by way of mitigation, however, that I am a shiftless and an idle man, so it's not my fault.
Needless to say really, there's a ton(ne) of stuff inside the cadaver of the machine that I'd quite like to get back - music, photos and other bits of electronic flotsam. In desperation I had a quick trawl of the web, and there might, just might, be a chance that the system unit has been overwhelmed by dust, which is why it's refusing to start - the digital equivalent of having shit in the carburetter, if you will. So in the tradition of devil-may-care British idiocy I decided to take it to pieces and hoover its guts, in the hope this might give it another six months of poor quality wheezing (ahem) life.
I've completed the first part. I dismantled it on Monday, following some thankfully very comprehensive instructions that some jolly egg had posted on-line. I then wedged in the thinnest nozzle in the Dyson arsenal and gave it a good old suck.
Tonight comes the final part, the reassembly. And, frankly, if it works, I'll eat my hat and coat. Still, stranger things have happened I suppose. I just can't think of one.
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