I AM embarrassed to admit that it was my fifth attempt - and the most serious so far.

But, yet again, I failed miserably and came away feeling dejected, disheartened, deflated and demoralised.

Why is it that a supposedly intelligent 40-something woman who manages to hold down a job while bringing up a young family is unable to buy a computer?

It's not as if I am looking to invest in a long-range missile-launcher or a satellite tracking device. Just a simple, bog-standard home computer to replace my ten-year-old word processor.

If only I could use the word 'simple' in relation to the task. Previous attempts have failed as I have always come face-to-face with salesmen who don't appear to speak a word of English. They converse in strange tongues, using words and expressions that are totally alien to me. Hard drive, disk drive, RAM, ROM, megahertz, megabytes. I go in with an open mind, full of enthusiasm, questions at the ready and eager to make a purchase. Yet each time it has been the same. I think it's called being blinded by science.

I thought that last week's attempt - after a break of six months since I last had a go - would be different. For a start, I had done my homework about the type of model that would best suit my needs and those of my family. I had also brushed up on the language and found out what all the terminology stood for.

I was so confident that I withdrew some of my precious savings from the building society. I planned to pay for it that day, take it home, plug it in and use it. Looking back, I now realise that I was being wildly optimistic.

As soon as I stepped through the door of the local PC World, I was lost. Not that the sales assistant wasn't friendly and helpful - he was. It's just that, like all the staff in computer stores, he didn't seem to be able to use anything but computer-speak.

You hit them with normal enough questions, such as: "How will I know what to do when it is installed?" and "Can the children play games on it?" At first their replies verge on the understandable, "It will tell you what to do", "It depends what games they want".

But the conversation quickly descends into the realms of modems, motherboards, microprocessors and other m-words that have about as much meaning as a baby's babble (whatever all those 'right on' books by Earth Mother types say, that's all it is).

I am not alone in my frustration. A radio programme recently featured a number of well-known people, including the Liverpudlian writer and Brookside creator Phil Redmond, who still use old-fashioned typewriters, in part due to the fact that they can't get to grips with the baffling terminology that goes with buying a computer.

People like me never feel comfortable in places such as PC World. There I was the other day, surrounded by customers of all ages, wondering why I was the only one who seemed lost and confused. Everyone else, from children to grans and granddads, looked like they knew what they were doing. They appeared totally at ease - as if they were buying a loaf of bread.

Predictably, I left the store empty-handed and am still battling on with my steam-powered equipment. The money is still in the bank, but I've seen a nice typewriter in an antique shop...

Updated: 08:54 Tuesday, March 23, 2004