I can’t spell. You may think this is an odd failing in a writer. It’s like being an accountant  who can’t count. But accountants don’t have to count these days, and writers don’t have to spell. Their computers can do it for them.

I can imagine there will be a time – if it hasn’t come already – when doctors will have no need to know anything about medicine. All they will have to do is punch symptoms  into their computer for it to come up immediately with a diagnosis, prognosis and likely cure, pus any side effects which might arise from the cure.

Similarly, rabbis faced with a halachic problem will no longer have to turn to a higher authority. They will turn to their computer instead, though I’m not sure why they should bother, because the answer will always be: ‘No.’

My own computer, though I got it wholesale from a good Jewish trader - Stanley Kalms, in fact – is thoroughly goyish and doesn’t know a word of Yiddish, nor any Hebew for that matter. Thus I only have to press the ‘spell’ key, and expressions like booba, zeida, yenta, shadchan, mechutan, shnorrer, and shlemiel are instantly changed to boob, zebra, yen, shallow, machismo, scorner and shnitzel.

Shortly before Rosh Hashanah last year I wrote the following to a friend:

Dear Shmuel,

Just a line to thank you for a lovely Shabbos.

Your wife Fruma is a real eshes chayil. What a cook! What a nosh! Her gefilte fish, cholent, kuel, kishke, tzimmes, and shtrudel were out of this world. But are you sure the parev cream on the lokshenh pudding was really parev?

It was so delicious that I forgive her even if it wasn’t.

You’ve got a lovely mishpoche. Your Soraleh, kin eina hora, was a mechayeh to look at, whilst your moshele has the makings of a real mensh. Even  your shvigger  was not the alter klafte everyone says she is, but I’ll bet your shver, olov hasholem, feels he’s happier where he is. May she live bisken hundert und zvanzig!

As for your shul, quite frankly it wasn’t worth the schlep. They didn’t stop shmoozing for a minute. It was as noisy as our Shtibl, but not half as heimish.

Your chazzan was toneless, our rov gormless, and your gabboim were brainless.

Even your Shammas was a Shmo. The Tallis he gave me was an alte shamatter, with all the tzitzis gone, and I doubt he knows a chumash from a siddur.

And you’d think, as a visitor from out of town, they would have given me maftif, or at least an aliyah,  but what did they offer? Hagboh – whilst I was still convalescing from a double hernia! I think they did it on purpose, the grobbers.

As you know, I’m not one to harbour farribles, but a meesa meshunah would be too good for them.

Wishing you all a k’sivah  v’chsimah  toivah, Chaim

I pressed the ‘spell’ button and this is what I got:

Dear Shovel,

Just a line to thank you for your lovely Shabby.

Your wife Fruity is a real Eschew Chaos. What a cook! What a niche! Her gehennah fish, chalet, kudos, kibble, times and shrivel were out of this world. But are you sure the partridge cream on the lockjaw pudding really was a partridge?

It was so delicious that I forgive her even if it wasn’t.

You’ve got a lovely mishmash. Your Sore, keen eider horn, was a mechanic to look at, while your Meusli has the makings of a real menace. Even your scarifier was not the ale klan everyone says she is, but I’ll bet your shower, olive hashish, feels he’s happier where he is. May she live to be bisexual, hunchbacked and tantalising.

As for your sump, quite frankly it isn’t worth the scrap. They didn’t stop schooling for a minute. It was as noisy as our shamble, but not half as hellish.

Your chaser was toneless, your rob gormless, and your gabble were brainless.

Even your shames was a shoe. The tallies he gave me was an ale shatter, with all the tits gone, and I doubt he he knows a champ from a sicker.

As you’d think, as a visitor from out of town, they would have given me mafia, or at least an alias, but what did they offer? Haybox - whilst I was still convalescing from a double hernia! I think they did it on purpose, the robbers.

 As you know, I’m not one to harbour fairies, but a mishap miasma would be too good for them.

Wishing you all a Kelvin vaccinal toad. Chain