But maybe we've all been missing a trick, with news reaching me that a New Zealander recently sold two ghosts in an online auction. Avie Woodbury claims to have trapped the spirit of an old man and a troublesome little girl in two glass phials.

The containers have been corked and the ethereal beings doused with holy water to dampen their spirits. The pair fetched more than £1,300 on the Trade Me website.

I'm sure there's a couple of ghostly figures floating around Dodgi's sales desk. They're never in the office long enough for me to catch them, mind. Maybe I should try the Dog and Duck.

The software giant's offering aims to be more 'visually rich' than Google's bit of all white.
Prior to the launch of the advertising onslaught, Microsoft's UK vice president of consumer and online Ashley Highfield told MediaGuardian.co.uk that the vendor was not afraid of big, bad Google.

"We are taking out our slingshots and taking on Goliath," he declared.

Nice analogy, Ashley, but it's hard to see a company that banked $15bn net profit last year as a feisty underdog. And a $2bn ad campaign seems less of a slingshot, more of a nuclear arsenal. Frankly, I'd feel more inclined to accept Steve Ballmer as the next James Bond.

The firm's desperate for channel partners and is using scare tactics to make sure we all sign up. According to its research, every office is a veritable bacteria factory with the average PC mouse containing 1,676 germs per square inch. That compares to just 49 per square inch on the average toilet seat.

A week on, and I am now a registered reseller of durable antibacterial solutions. I've seen fevered interest from firms across east London and have added another zero to next year's business plan. Trouble is,Shirl's already spent most of it covering all the fixtures and fittings in clingfilm.

The Martin Aircraft Company in New Zealand has bagged a multi-million dollar deal to turn the science fiction gadget into science fact. The Christchurch firm aims to make 500 of the devices per year and sell them at a retail price of about £50,000.

Wannabe James Bonds and Boba Fetts can reach heights of about a mile and travel at 60mph for 30 miles on one tank of gas. Due to the fact the contraption weighs a mere 250lbs, you won't even require a pilot's licence to operate them.

I reckon these are sure to be a hit in the übercompetitive maelstrom of hurly-burly machismo that is the channel.

My arch-nemesis at Plaistow Pete's PC Palace may have the Lamborghini, the Rolex, the trophy wife, the 60-inch TV and the chateau in Provence - but I'll be damned if he's getting one of these bad boys before me.

I must confess that I felt just a little sheepish at first. I sit here and poke fun at anyone with the temerity to do something a little out of the ordinary, not once thinking that the targets of my barbs might actually read this stuff.

(Alas, maybe I was raised wrong, Dear Reader. My father often used to sit me on his knee and say: "Son, if you want to achieve anything, you've got to apply yourself. But belittling others' achievements is much easier, and invariably more rewarding.")

In any case, I wanted to make a point of giving mad props to my man Ron for putting himself out there and taking the time to reply, especially in such good humour. Frankly, no-one would have judged you harshly for giving me a dry slap, Ron. Verbally, at least. So, good on yer, mate - my hat is well and truly off.

I read, with some admiration, Ron's impassioned and well-articulated explanation of his unusual job title. I've still got little idea what a vice president of customer value realisation does, but now I'm damn sure I want one!

Applications, salary expectations, references and thinly veiled threats to the usual address please!

My sales chief assures me it has nothing to do with his enthusiastic consumption of Saxon refreshments, but rather the all-around assault on the senses that was this year's show.

More than 4,000 exhibitors! (Wow!) 450,000 square metres of technological tremendousness! (Crikey!) 400,000 visitors! (Count 'em!)

Gord even shrugged off his hangover to take part in the CeBIT Run, a 3.5km circuit taking in a few of the show's myriad exhibition halls. It's unclear at this stage whether my protégé actually unearthed any must-have new technologies, but at least he had a nice time.

With my creaking joints, fear of flying and intolerance of bratwurst, I think I may have done my last CeBIT. But, with exhibitor numbers almost half what they were nine years ago, I'm still holding out hope they'll move it to Camber Sands.

However, during the 'masterclass' I was told that when a journalist said 'off the record' it didn't mean it would necessarily stay off the record. Luckily, I speak to real journalists quite a lot so I know they actually do honour 'off the record'.

By his own admission this joker giving the 'masterclass' was, at heart, a salesman and had absolutely no journalism training whatsoever. It made me realise that I'm missing a trick.

I'm thinking of getting on the lecture circuit myself to talk about brain surgery. I have no expertise on the subject, and have never actually been a brain surgeon, but I'm sure I could make some valid points somewhere along the line.

But I was talking to one distribution pal this week who's getting the right hump with serial entrepreneurs. He told me he'd been particularly infuriated by a recent conversation with one would-be IT magnate.

"Come on," said Billy Big-Shot. "All you guys are insured, what does it matter if someone goes bust?"

"I wish you'd come here to tell me that," said my distie compadre.

"Why?," came the response.

"So I could punch you in the mouth."

Well, I've always said I'd like my distribution partners to be a bit more hands-on.

My pal was driving at the time, and no sooner had he picked up the phone than I was met with the opening gambit: "Can I start with a rant?"

Thankfully, the target of his ire was not me, but the Great British motorway system. The poor chap had been on the road for a couple of days, whizzing from one meeting to the next. I was regaled with a list of our most famous highways and the myriad disruptions to each that had kept him from doing business.

My mate was particularly irked by the lack of any visible work being done. "There are cones everywhere, but no roadworks," he moaned.

I cheerily told him this was the perfect opportunity to sell some of that mobile working technology I'm always hearing about. Strangely, my helpful suggestion didn't seem to improve his mood.

I've always hired receptionists. And salespeople. And engineers. So I was intrigued to read about the latest appointment at NetIQ.

I'm a big admirer of the company's system management technology. And Ron Milton, who comes with a terrific CV, will doubtless be a top-notch appointment.

So why lumber him with as unwieldy an epithet as 'vice president of customer value realisation'? What will he do all day? I'm sure he'll have lots of important tasks but, really, he may as well call himself the 'spectral thaumaturge of fairy dust and moon pies'.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you, dear reader, that the eminent biochemist Mahlon B Hoagland really hit the nail on the head when he observed: "Simplicity is indeed often the sign of truth and a criterion of beauty."

Figures from research house Synovate, (nice name, fellas), and telecoms firm Doro find almost two-thirds of US seniors claim to have a positive attitude to newfangled gadgetry.
In Sweden and Germany, the figure is 62 per cent, but just 44 per cent of British pensioners share such a tech-friendly outlook. Almost half claim to be "intimidated and hesitant" when it comes to tech gubbins.

As an industry, I feel it is incumbent on us to help remedy this situation. So I implore you to follow my lead in helping old folks get involved with technology. Until the end of the month, I'm offering a five per cent discount to all over-95 year-olds purchasing two or more wireless routers. I'm just one man, but I'm trying to make a difference.

In an interview with news site BNet, Gates seemed underwhelmed by the iPad, but conceded that his rivals' smartphone was a fine piece of kit.

"It's not like I sit there (with the iPad) and feel the same way I did with iPhone where I say, 'Oh my God, Microsoft didn't aim high enough'," he postulated.

Don't blame yourself, Bill. Until I saw the ads, I had no idea I wanted a phone that doubled up as a travel agent, a financial advisor and a spirit level. Now, I've got such a virulent case of app fever, I'm launching a Dodgi-branded app.

For just 99p, you make pixellated versions of me and Gordon dance to Are 'Friends' Electric? I think this is just the push we need to get listless generation y-ers interested in Dodgi's brand of IT solutions provision.

Those without the time, money or inclination to make the 150-hour journey between Moscow and Vladivostok in real life can now do so virtually. You can even listen to audio books of the Russian classics while enjoying the scenery.

Google Russia's marketing director Konstantin Kuzmin said: "I know few people who have travelled along the Trans-Siberian railroad, but I am sure that a lot of people feel enthusiastic about this trip."

It's a tempting offer, Konstantin. But I'm waiting for the day I can virtually take in the stunning vistas on offer between Barking and Gospel Oak.

The accompanying photo suggests that, like the keyboards we all know and love, it does still feature some keys. On a board. But maybe you have to experience it first-hand to appreciate the innovation.

Apparently, it "shares its design language", (French, I'm guessing), with the software vendor's popular Arc Mouse. Microsoft also revealed that the designers responsible for this little miracle of typing technology were inspired by items including lighting fixtures, vases, a colour TV, 64-piece dinner service, clock radio, a broken deckchair and a cuddly toy. Didn't they do well?

"The Arc Keyboard is as much a part of the décor as the chandelier in the dining room and the vase in the kitchen," mused Microsoft.

I can tell you now, in dining rooms across Dagenham, my customers will be beyond delighted to finally have a keyboard as integral to their décor as the chandelier.

A study carried out by 'experience day' website intotheblue.co.uk claims that almost three-quarters of techie types had done 'something special' for Valentine's Day. (A 24 marathon and a Domino's, perhaps?) The website added that IT bods are "the best at choosing both thoughtful and unique gifts". (For other people?)

Perhaps unsurprisingly, musicians and artists were the next most romantic professionals, with about two-thirds of each having planned a grandiose gesture for their other half.

It must be the job stability and hefty pay packet that allows them to indulge their largesse. For Valentine's Her Indoors said: "Surprise me."

You should have seen her face when she opened that box of smoke-damaged toner cartridges.