Psion.
I wonder if that word means anything to you? It brings a wry smile of almost satisfaction
to me because I can relate to it directly and remember the pride with which my
casual use of . . .
But I get beyond myself.
In my largest (within hand reach, I’m not going to make that much
effort) dictionary, The Encarta
Dictionary 2,175 pages, it does not get a single mention.
The Internet, however, suggests that Psion is a name that will be
familiar to groups of people with whom I am not familiar: Gamers, Comic
aficionados and the like. Psion is a
whole character class in Dungeons and
Dragons, no less. And in what sounds
like an extract from one of the sci-fi, pseudo-scientific books in which
psionic (i.e. telepathic and beyond) abilities are taken as the norm, it would
appear that the word psion (J/ψ) refers to a subatomic
particle, a flavour-neutral meson consisting of a charm quark and a charm
antiquark.
As interesting or
indeed unintelligible as the foregoing might be, these are not the definitions
of the word Psion (with a capital ‘P’) that have meaning for me.
In the early 90s
of the last century, which I am horrified to think is almost 30 years ago! I was an early adopter of the Psion 3 a
handheld, clam design personal ‘digital assistant’. It had a small screen in one half of the clam
and a keyboard in the other. I was the
only person I knew who had one of these and every time I used it (and I used it
as often as I reasonably could) it excited techno-amazement and techno-envy,
which more than justified its price!
Ever since I saw
my first digital watch on Tomorrow’s World on the BBC and certainly when they
came down enough in price for them to be afforded by mere mortals, I have been
an infatuated devotee of things techno-electrical.
If I could count
up the amount of money that I have spent on computers and computer-like things
(which I have absolutely no intention of doing because of the shame that lies
in quantifying the outrageous amounts that I have willingly squandered on the
latest gadgets) I would probably find that the only recourse that I could possibly
have to compensate for such extravagant monetary behaviour would be immediately
to enter a Monastery, don a hair shirt and only take it off to start
flagellating myself with scorpion whips (look it up, it’s not using the
animals, especially as it’s my birth sign) as the lightest possible penance for
such wilful throwing away of money.
But I don’t
care. I have gained more pleasure in my
amassing and displaying gadgets than . . . well, I don’t want to go overboard
here, there are other things and pleasures in my life that go beyond the mere
electronic - but gadgets have given me satisfaction. And as soon as I realized with computers that
I was a ‘user’ and not suited to be a ‘programmer’ I was happy to indulge in
machine after machine. Monochrome
screens burst forth into glorious colour; print went from dot matrix to laser
to ink jet; memory went from 8kb ROM (sic!) on my very first ‘real’ computer
the famous Sinclair ZX81 to 1TB on my newest laptop!
So, my twitchy
little fingers have been urging electrons to light up screens for years and I
never really get bored with the results.
I wear the appellation of Gadget Freak with something approaching pride.
I still remember
in the far off days of computer exclusiveness, I would be asked as I paraded my
Psion before technology confounded eyes, “But how does it work? Show us!”
And I would press a few buttons and behold, staring eyes and open mouths
agape in wonder.
I remember too, in
those early days going to a ‘Computer Workshop’ and when I got there the
instructor in charge of the group said, “Thank God you’ve come Stephen! You take this side of the room and I’ll see
to the other!” My plaintive whines about
the fact that I had come to be part of the group not an instructor was ignored
as our joint class lurched into action.
“Stephen, it’s not
working!” said one of the members. “I’ve
tried pressing this and this and this and nothing happens.” And it shows you how long ago this little
group was, that my masterly assessment of the problem led to a swift resolution
when the computer was actually switched on at the mains and the screen blazed
into life - to gasps of amazed thankfulness!
Such innocent days
are long past. We are all thumbs
efficient now and are laid back in our utilization of complex machinery that we
could not have dreamed of only a few years back.
So, to keep me up and running as far as my mobile phone (A
Yotaphone, two faced Russian built affair) I decided to take a power pack with
me to feed the insatiable electric hunger of the thing. I powered up the phone; I powered up the as
yet unused power pack - I was good to go and to survive a New Year’s Family
Celebration which would go on well past midnight!
Sure enough my phone’s cravings became more than I could accommodate
and so I plugged in the pack and waited for the phone to be sated. And nothing happened. And continued not to happen while the phone
descended into darkness. In desperation
I was reduced to writing in my little notebook that I always carry with me.
I assumed that the failure of the power pack was another example of
sleek, svelte packaging over hard utility.
Little bigger than a credit card with built in short leads, I always
thought it was too good to be true. And
to be absolutely honest I only bought it because it looked shiny and neat - and
useful of course. And it didn’t
work. Another waste of money. Another gadget bites the dust.
In spite of my years of working out how to set up digital watches without the instructions; my
apprenticeship through Sinclair, Amstrad, Mac, HP, and a wealth of other logos;
my dedication to gadgets, no matter how marginally useful they might be - I had
been defeated by a simple on-off button.
How are the mighty fallen.
Vanitas, vanitas etc etc.
I start 2018 chastened by the thought that complexity and
sophistication starts with something simple.
I will indeed, think on these things!
I will indeed, think on these things!
