While travelling with The Artist, it was one of those long distance trips to a destination several counties away, something I can't really manage without assistance from a professional, and I was probably waxing a little too lyrical upon the precarious existence of the Balsa Wood Tree should a Woodpecker happen upon one when The Artist chose to gently raise the subject of the Ghost that has taken up residence in the technical device. "It's not Cortina, it's Cortana."
This news came as a shock. Old demons reared, late onset dyslexia being one of
them. But seriously, Cortana! A word, or name that makes even less sense than
Cortina, and can only have sprung from a committee room fueled into the late
night by mind altering substances and a determination to remain gender neutral,
and so far above the fray as to have to reached the level of some kind of air
dwelling plankton. No wonder we're all doomed to a form of mathematical
sterility, right on the Edge waiting to leap from the cliff, the name Firefox or
Chrome is bad enough. I guess Poets no longer have space in The Cosmos.