The Death of Ink, The Birth of Death Rays

 I have finally done it. I have stepped boldly into the late twentieth century and purchased a laser printer.

The Grand Illusion of Home Photography

For years, we have been sold a spectacular lie by the inkjet cartel. We were led to believe that, at any given moment, we might suddenly feel the urge to print a high-resolution, glossy A4 photograph of a sunset in our own living rooms.

We don't. Nobody does. It is a myth.

Instead, my previous machine spent its tragic, short life performing agonizingly loud "self-cleaning" rituals, consuming £40 worth of liquid gold just to prepare itself to print a single, mono return label for an ill-fitting pair of trousers. No more. The Brother Mono Laser Printer has arrived. It promises no colour, no joy, and absolutely no existential dread when a yellow cartridge inexplicably runs dry.

Enter the Laser

This glorious grey cube doesn’t deal in trivialities like "magenta." It deals in bonded carbon and pure efficiency. I require a machine exclusively for the glamorous trifecta of modern life:

• Amazon return labels
• The occasional gig ticket (printed in case the phone battery dies, naturally)
• Scattered, boring administrative bits and pieces

Best of all, thanks to a delightful little banking bonus that felt entirely like free money, this magnificent beast cost me a grand total of £9.99 out of my actual pocket. Absolute larceny, really.

It currently sits on the desk, staring at me with a blank, unblinking plastic expression. Classic printer move. I am about to attempt to hook it up to the Wi-Fi. I have saved this as a draft, fully prepared for the inevitable digital warfare that usually ensues when trying to make a computer speak to a piece of plastic. Wish me luck; I may be gone some time.

The Triumph of the Machines

The digital warfare I anticipated never actually materialised. Rather than squinting at a paper manual with print so microscopic it requires a magnifying glass, I simply outsourced the entire installation process to my trusty robot assistant. Truly, who needs old-fashioned paper instructions when you have an AI companion to hold your hand through the Wi-Fi tether?

The maiden voyage has been successfully completed. My artificial friend even compiled a fabulous custom test sheet, specifically designed to push this little grey box to the absolute absolute limits of its glorious monochrome capabilities. The blacks are deep; the greys are stoic; the text is sharp enough to cut glass.

Having survived the exhausting ordeal of its own birth, the machine has now entered a deep, well-earned nap. It sits in the corner, gently snoring in standby mode, quietly awaiting its very first true assignment. Which will, in all probability, be a Vinted label. The princess of the house is clearing out her wardrobe yet again, and the laser stands ready.