Computers have revolutionised journalism. On quiet afternoons at the end of the week (past deadline!) we sometimes sit in the office while our assistant editor talks about ancient days where telex's ruled the roost and copy had to be read down the phone to copy takers so that it could be laid out individually for production. Where carbon paper was the office equipment of choice and you thought you were in with the modern technology if you had an electric typewriter.

Life is different now. The internet means it's quicker to look up someone's phone number online than tracking down the phone book (which underdoubtedly has been nicked from beside your desk by someone else and never returned). We work on networks where we save copy which the subs can then pick up to lay out on the pages and send winging it's way to our production offices about 100 miles away.

Which is all very clever, until the bloody lot breaks down.

Wednesdays are deadline day for us. Absolute deadline is 1pm. The reporters come in early (from about 7.30am depending on how many stories there are to do) to get their stuff ready, and then our ed and asst. ed do their thing after that. It can be stressful, especially if something big breaks, but generally as a system it works. So, let's look at today.

8am: I get to work. Quick bowl of wheetos (chocolatey sugar rush goodness) and a read of the news websites before I start phoning people to get quotes for my last two stories of this week's edition.

8.20: Other two reporters arrive. First cup of tea.

8.24: A grunt from opposite me as someone finds they can't save their work. 'Is anyone else having trouble saving to the network?'

8.25: I try with the piece I'm working on. My machine crashes. Much headscatching and swearing until...

8.50: Editor arrives. Tries to open a page and can't. First phonecall to Systems (based 30 miles away). Leaves message on answer phone.

9.05: Systems calls back. Ask us to reboot server. More tea.

9.10: Still not working. IT guru talks our editor through changing server ports on the router box mounted high on the wall - so watch him contravene all health and safety by clambering up on desk/chair combo to fiddle with wiring in a Lethal Weapon-esque 'which wire should I sever?' kind of way.

9.18: Admit defeat. We're all told to switch off while they access the system remotely.

9.30: Make cup of tea for something to do.

9.40: Still waiting.

9.55: Eat sausage roll after assistant editor goes on bakery run.

10.10: Editor phones systems to see if he was meant to phone them or if they were going to phone back. No answer, leaves voicemail message.

10.20: More tea.

10.35: Systems phones back. Everyone switch on.

10.45: Nope. False alarm not fixed. Everyone switch off again. People are beginning to look panicky now. More tea.

11.00: We start working on hard drive only. Production alerted we're running late. Another tea.

11.45: Network partially restored. Pages start being done again. Editor asks work experience girl to make tea.

Noon: Man from systems arrives having driven over. Looking harassed already (they must hate us, we're always calling them).

1.30pm: Final pages being checked. Systems man still tinkering. We're late, late late. All the reporters are done for now but have to stay until the paper is finished in case any queries. Stomach rumbling grumpiness all round. Is it time to go home yet?

Have decided in my lunch hour will buy new prescription sunglasses (view from window has been annoying unremittingly cheery and bright) or if not possible then About a Boy on DVD. Or a magazine. Something anyway. Sometimes it has to be done, payday be damned... days like this are what credit cards are made for.