My printer-frustration has been replaced with a sneaking admiration

REGULAR readers know this column is frequently about nothing at all, writes Colm O’Regan.

It won’t come as a surprise when I say that the big news this week was that I dyed a pair of boots. But read me out. Like any columnist worth his salt there is a small point.

The dyed boot was caused by a printer. First let’s talk about printers. As time goes by, my printer-frustration has been replaced with a sneaking admiration for the humble A4 home printer. I just love its sheer orneriness. In a world where every iteration of technology wants to be intuitive, eager to please, like a dog, a printer doesn’t give a hoot. A printer is a cat, staring at you and smirking. I’m waiting for the movie where the evil villain is thwarted by a paper jam or a warning that he’s bought knock-off ink and HP/Epson/Fujitsu are not one iota happy about it and they’re watching the house from across the road in what looks like a bread van.