It was love at first sight. I had recently joined the local astronomy society and started spending social time with some university lecturers, doctors and government employees. It was a wonderful time for me, I learned so much from these people.

I learned that hippies still existed and now they were the intellectuals, not the drop outs. I learned that hippies were still off saving whales only they were saving gay whales now. I learned they still didn't shave their legs but they did smoke a helluva lot of pot and talk (argue) base social political structures.

I was the baby of the group at 17 years of age but it mattered not to them; I was still invited and participated in their social occasions. I was accepted and taken care of by the group. At the time I felt intellectually inferior to them but I never felt like a sore thumb or extra finger. In hindsight, I realize now, what these people realized back then, I was their intellectual equal and it was only lack of experience and my tender age that made me feel so dumb and different.

We spent many a night together up the mountains at our little observatory that we had built, recording lunar occulations, comets and eclipses while sitting around an open fire telling stories. At that time I wasn't the story teller. I was still yet to write my stories of life but it was fascinating listening to the other tells their stories sitting by the campfire outside, surrounded by nothing but a blanket of stars.

One of the others in the society was also named Margaret. She was a true left-over remnant and product of the sixties; she was a fully qualified working doctor with bushy eyebrows, hairy legs, dowdy dress sense and a sensible professional appearance but could drink, swear and smoke pot like it was in danger of being extinct. There was Dave, the head of our local social security department. I had a bit of a hero worship going for Dave as he and his girlfriend, Jasmine, were always backpacking from one cause to the next with Greenpeace and other environmental cause agencies. There were quite a few people in the group all bonded by a love of the night skies - and then there was Tony.

Tony was unique. Today, what I recognize as my gaydar, is screaming. Back in the 80s, gay bashing was a national pass-time so Tony kept pretty quiet about his persuasions as such. Tony was 26 with a Harry Potter-esque unruly mop of totally grey hair, and pale lily white skin with bright blue eyes that changed from stormy to sunny, depending on the weather. He wore thick, coke-bottle glasses and spoke in what we now know is a slightly gay lisp. I loved watching his hands move around while he talked or touched things. Yes his hands were effeminate.

It mattered not, I loved Tony. He was my best friend, confident and protector as well as my life counselor. He was the one who would tell me how good I was and how much future I had to look forward to, while all those around me kept expecting me to "do something wrong again".

Tony worked at the university as a lecturer part time. One morning we decided to go into town and Tony needed to stop by work to pick up some papers. It was a fateful day indeed. It was a day in which one tiny instant changed the whole direction of my life.

I drove him over and then followed him through the halls and rooms of the university buildings into what today I recognize as a computer lab. Back then, I thought I was in the middle of a Star Wars movie set. I was leaning on a bench, waiting for Tony to gather the papers he needed, when a voice behind me spoke: "Hello."

I spun around in fear. My senses are pretty good and I didn't realize there was anyone else in the room. I looked from side to side. There was nobody there. I shrugged and thought my imagination was playing tricks again, or that the effects of the LSD I had taken on the weekend were longer lasting than first thought.

The voice came again. "Hello." I spun around quickly again, really scared now. There was still no one there. Suddenly my eyes were drawn to the blank screen on the bench I had been leaning on. Typing was appearing on the screen. "Hello... how are you" appeared.

I was astounded. I was still getting used to the idea of Walkmans, boom boxes and rubiks cubes. By this time "How are you Margaret" had appeared so I knew that Tony was behind it somehow. I was fascinated. Tony slunk silently up behind me and asked me what I thought of it.

"Wow," was all I could say. Tony went on to explain it was new for them to be able to send messages from one computer to another like I had seen. We sat there for hours after that, sending messages back and forth to each other and laughing like two kids in a sandpit playing with beetles.

For months after that I spent every spare moment I could inside the university's brand new computer labs, learning as much as I could about these new things that Tony said would take over the world one day. That day, I began a lifelong love affair with computers.

By 1994, just 10 years later, computers were available to the home market. I remember about that time upgrading to a 386 Apricot computer (a joint operation between IBM and Apple that turned out to be a lemon) from my 286 that ran windows 3.0.

I loved that Apricot computer. It had dos 5 on it with games like Wolfenstein and Aquanoid but I soon outgrew it and bought a 486. By that stage, I could pull them apart and fix minor issues inside. When I met Glen in '99, I already knew computers inside out and I went from strength to strength. We had our own computer store and I managed the shop and workshop with five staff in the store at all times.

Today, computers are a second nature to me. If I want to upgrade, I just go and buy the parts wholesale and install myself. If it breaks, I fix it. If something goes wrong with the software, I fix it. If something goes wrong with any of the other six operating computers in the house, I fix it. If I want to speak to my hubby out in his shed, I type and send him a message. I watch my children playing out the backyard by a click of the mouse button that brings up the security cam program. If someone else's computer goes wrong, I fix it. I breathe computers.

If I want to send my dad a picture of my kids, I email it. If I want to ask Yvonne in America about a new tremor in my hands, I send her an instant message and likely get a response within a minute. If I want to look up a phone number or address, or find a map for direction, I use the computer. If I want to know something, anything at all, I ask Google.

If I want to go on a holiday, I book and search via the computer. If I want to see what the weather will be today, I use the computer. If I want to cook a new recipe, I find it on the computer. If I want to listen to a DVD or a movie, I do it on the computer. All of my photos and writing is stored on my computer. My diary and appointments list is on my computer, my life is on that computer... and the list goes on.

How much has the computer integrated itself into my life today? If anyone had walked up to Tony and I that day back then and said "How are you going? I'm a bit rushed, have to get home and log on to the Net to check my emails and download the latest MP4 and burn if off to DVD. Then I have to load it on my USB Ipod, providing my ISP is allowing the bandwidth on their broadband to run at a decent speed. How about I text you later from my cell?"

If someone walked up and said that to me in 1984, the only cell I would think they were possibly talking about was white and padded, and you wore a restraining jacket while residing in it.

Can you imagine going back in time to 1984 and comparing it to the comforts of today? Or even coming forward through time and arriving in the land of cell phones, satellite instant communication, portable DVD players, ipods, computers….

Sigh... all the stuff I wish that I had had as a kid...