Vicky Ewan: Just when I thought I had conquered technology

I enjoy devices when they work - and will while away a pleasant hour upon them as readily as the next person, lest you harbour any saintly images of me as a screen-free citizen - but when they go wrong (as, in my experience, they are regularly wont to do), they simultaneously flummox and irritate me.
I am flummoxed because my knowledge is too limited to enable me to repair them; I am irritated because I am flummoxed (NB flummoxed is, I have just realised, a beautiful word, heinously underused; I shall endeavour to be more flummoxed in the future, to elevate its status amongst its more popular peers - a small yet noble service).
As my children began to grow up and, inevitably, develop a more sophisticated understanding than I can ever hope (or, truthfully, wish) to possess regarding IT and its many forms, I was only too glad to retire my own limited expertise and allow them free reign with the avalanche of hardware and software that is apparently essential for the successful running of a modern household.
My offspring have now reached the age where they no longer harbour any misconceptions about my ability to solve technological wrangles that might rear their three-pronged heads, and I don't exclude the youngest from this epiphany; they merely gently remove from my grasp or gaze whatever implement I am frowning at (flummoxed and irritated), and return it seconds later with good grace, having winkled out and solved any problem with which I might have been wrestling.
I occasionally entertain myself with the assertion that I could resolve the issue, should I really put my mind to it; I am so loath to test this theory, though, that it seems unlikely I will prove myself right. You can perhaps imagine my consternation when, having returned to work one recent Monday after a pleasant weekend in the bosom of my family, I was confronted by not one but two pressing matters that were poised to challenge my cognitive powers beyond their capabilities.
The first was that the card reader parishioners and visitors can use in church to make donations to parish funds - a facility introduced when services resumed post Lockdown 1: The Original Lockdown to assuage the hazards associated with handling cash and the proximity of collectors taking baskets around pews - had stopped working.
This was not an unprecedented occurrence, and I rolled my eyes and said I would take a look. I felt unusually optimistic because, a mere 36 hours earlier, I had been given a short lesson in the procedure to follow should such a situation arise during the imminent and prolonged absence of the parish's resident techno-wizard. Well, I say I had a lesson - really, it was my young son who had been invited for tutoring; I was more of a mute and moot bystander.
I had, however, paid enough attention to observe that the issue described on that occasion was not, sadly, the issue now facing me. I engaged my restricted skills to rectify matters, to no avail. By chance, my husband was due to attend a service at the church later that afternoon, and I felt sure that he would achieve greater success than I; sadly, though he offered sage advice, he also drew a blank.
Returning to the office in resignation, I was then floored by problem no. 2: the photocopier would not print. This is a brand-new machine, installed over the summer, and has so far caused us no difficulty. I had printed off something that very morning without fuss - why had it chosen this moment, when I needed to print in bulk, and time-sensitively, to fail? Why? Growing ever more aggrieved - a state exacerbated by the lateness of the hour - and lacking the aptitude to secure a resolution, I felt I had little option but to message my dear competent friend and importune his assistance for the morrow.
He responded, graciously agreeing to counsel me though the process from afar. When the next morning arrived, my friend was unable to assist with the printer, and I was obliged to request an engineer's visit, at their earliest convenience. We then spoke for an hour about the card reader. Despite his excellent suggestions, and my obedient application, nothing changed; it seemed we had reached some kind of impasse.
As I ended the call, however, I was flooded by a dogged desire to refute failure. I summonsed, increasingly desperately, every reserve of knowledge at my disposal, and attempted, increasingly haphazardly, every trick up my sleeve - et voilà! I had done it! Somehow - and I truly don't understand how - the problem was solved. Victorious, I strode into the office, intent on sorting out the printer. Gathering my cogent powers once again, I managed to identify a hitherto unexplored potential solution, applied it - and hey presto! The problem disappeared! Inflated by my double success, and feeling like some newly-crowned whizz-kid, I set the printer to its load of tasks, cancelled the anticipated engineer's visit, and smugly proceeded to demonstrate the card-reader's improved function - only for it to revert back to its defective state.

Flummoxed. And irritated.