Sarah Cunningham
/Comfort For The Computer
The computer in the head office of the bank in London lost its nut at seven-thirty one morning. By the time its fairest operator, SARAH CUNNINGHAM, had arrived punctually at nine it sounded as if it was in the last throes of mechanitis tremulus, which is computerised Latin for the chronic shakes.
"Now, now," said Sarah, giving it a pat "stop clanking, you silly thing. Let's see exactly what's wrong with you.
And she fed it a relevant medical question. Out came the answer in a kind of fed-up frenzy.
"Where's me breakfast?"
It was the absent-minded night watchman again; he'd forgotten to feed the computer. So, Sarah, who picked up a lot of common sense as well as maths and French at college, fed it a lovely meal of machine oil and iron filings and the comforted computer happily got down to work on overdrafts.