Computing really is a blood sport!

 

This morning I attempted to work out when it was that I first owned a ‘reasonable’ personal computer.  I had a sort of access to a machine when I started teaching in the 1970’s, but in those far off days, the computer was limited to one to a school – and in the school I was teaching in, it was in the jealous safekeeping of the Maths department, and ‘lesser breeds’ (i.e., non-mathematicians) access was somewhat limited.

     In Cardiff in the very early 80’s I was gifted a hand-held Sinclair machine, and by the mid 1980’s I had bought my own Sinclair QL.

 

     The QL remains the only computer that I have owned that has literally reduced me to tears as a long and graphically complex document that I was typing out to an external deadline was almost wholly lost when the keyboard froze.  In those distant computer times, when the digital world was yet young, a page of A4 could take over a minute to ‘save’, so you tended not to and usually you were lucky, and you could mark the completion of your computer typing by having a celebratory ‘save’.  Usually lucky, but not always.

     On that unforgettable occasion I had to retype everything that I had done and eventually went to bed in the late-early hours of the morning.  Slept for 30 minutes.  Got up to go to work.  Had a rough day.

     Given that I have had almost 40 years of computer experience (as user not programmer) and have lived through the trauma of the various versions of Windows, you would think that I have become digital savvy.  But no.

     I say this because I spent virtually the whole of the morning after I returned having completed my early swim, looking at a blank, or near blank, computer screen.

     The fault, I have to admit is mine.  I am sometimes sloppy in the way that I leave my computer at the end of the day.  Some things I close meticulously, but other documents and suchlike I tend to leave lurking on a variety of screens, as I tap the sleep button and depart.

     Usually, of course, this means little as my work from the previous day is there ready for me to edit or ignore with a tap of a finger and the writing of a password.  Except.

     Except when the computer tells me that it needs to update.  I suppose, like most people, I tap the ‘update later’ choice and usually plump for ‘Try tonight’ when I’m in bed for the machine to do what it needs to do. 

     And this is where my digital slovenliness comes back to byte me.

     For me, my computer is little more than a glorified typewriter.  Certainly, anyone listening to the way that I thump the electronic keys would be able to tell that I have not lost the techniques that I learned from my typewriter classes in Colchester Avenue in Cardiff on actual typewriters.   

 

So, most of my work on the computer is in Word, and I am usually working on more than one document at the time, and I like to have easy access, so I leave the documents on the active screens of the computer, and I don’t close them.

     Usually this doesn’t matter.  Except when I’ve clicked the ‘Try later tonight’ button for a system upgrade.  What happens then is that the Upload tries to upload, gets to a certain point, and then finds that there are open documents, and the process needs to know what I want to do with these documents, but I’m in bed, asleep.  So, the Upload stops, until I open the computer and am faced with questions and directions.

     I, of course, save the documents and then watch helplessly as Upload starts up, and what should have happened in the dark hours of inactivity, now happens when I have things to do in the daylight.

     This has happened more than once, and I am always being caught out.  It is because the clicking of the ‘Try later tonight’ is a case of ‘once clicked, soonest forgotten’ and by the time I come to close the system down, it has slipped my mind that the computer will reactivate itself hours and hours later.

     It seems to me that it should not be beyond the powers of the insanely powerful chips and programs that we play with today that, if you have, however quickly and thoughtlessly, programmed an Update, there should be a message when you try and turn the computer off or if you ask it to sleep, to remind you that all other programs should be closed if you don’t want to waste half a day in the daylight!

     I can remember on previous machines that I would sometimes get a “Are you sure you want to do that?” message on the screen which would, almost invariably make me pause and instinctively say, “No!  I don’t!  What am I doing?”  Computers do make it ridiculously easy to be intimidating.

 

     I remember on one of my early Apple computers, you would get an occasional “FATAL SYSTEM ERROR!” and a graphic of an old-fashioned spherical bomb with a fizzing fuse, which would panic me instantly!

     The only good thing about not doing digital things properly nowadays is that you waste time, whereas previously you could do severe programming damage to the future running of your machine.

     Perhaps this is the time that I learn to link my easy Update delay with tidy digital housekeeping.  Though I doubt it!  All computer users have to be masochistic to a degree, it is the price we pay for the wealth that sophisticated programs give.

     No pain, no gain.  That is the motto, and an article of belief in the digital world!

Warm thoughts on a cold day

 

O

 

 

 

 

 

Today has been one of those November autumn days that you think you remember from your childhood: flawless blue skies, bright sun, and cold.  The world seems sharper, and the air is just a little bit more bracing.

     It says something for living in Catalonia, and living by the sea, that yesterday was the first night that we added an eiderdown to the cover sheet under which we sleep!

     The eiderdown is thin and stitched and was originally my grandmother’s, and possibly handed down to her too, it’s an antique, and still efficient and not looking anything like its age.

     It reminds me of the times that I used to sleep in my grandparents’ house under that eiderdown, in Maesteg, in the small back bedroom in a bed which I only later discovered was an old four-poster with the posts cut off. 

     My mattress was feather filled, and something into which you sunk, and which I now understand is not very good for your back and posture while sleeping, but I was only a kid and all I thought about was the joy of soft acceptance.  I can’t now recall if I felt anything about the difference of my modern bed in Cardiff and the anachronism that I slumbered in in Maesteg.  I think that forgetfulness is more to do with the fact that kids are able to compartmentalise experiences, and link places with circumstances and not extrapolate to continuous ‘everyday life’.

     An example I always like to cite concerns Easter.  Every Easter my parents would buy me an Easter egg and I would be delighted.  Easter eggs were Easter eggs to me, they were made by Cadbury’s had silver foil and them and the chocolate tasted different to that in the chocolate bars. 

     But, one year a friend of my mother gave me an Easter egg that came in its own satin finish box with a thin white ribbon holding the lid, with the egg itself positioned in the centre of the box in its own cardboard cut-out place with the chocolate arranged around it!  It was opulence and luxury that I had never experienced.  It was overwhelming!

     The magnitude of the experience might be gauged by the fact that I managed to get over my initial reluctance to ‘spoil’ anything by actually eating the chocolate and dutifully consumed the lot, but I did keep the box for years.  And years.

     My parents had never given me anything so splendid for Easter but, and this is the interesting thing for me, I did not expect such a glorious, boxed egg to be repeated the next year when only my parents provided the eggy gifts.  I did not take the exception to suddenly become the norm.  The present was from an ‘outsider’, it was something different, and I was more than happy with what my parents provided.

     Although I stoutly maintain that I was not ‘spoiled’ by my parents, I have come to realize, as I have heard other people’s experiences, that I had a fortunate upbringing.  I lacked for nothing important and, while I did not get everything I wanted when I wanted it, I had most reasonable requests granted.

     So, with the kid’s ability to say ‘this happens here, but not necessarily there’ you can navigate a complex series of domestic and relationship conundrums.  The only sad thing is that degree of intelligent accommodation does not always inform your later adult life – unless you take the ‘that happened then, but not necessarily now’ variation on a childhood acceptance!

If only it was a comedy!

 

 

 

 

 

  

In the interests of truth and fairness I need to set the record straight.

     I thought, simpleton as I was, that Johnson might have had the good grace to let Paterson know that he was dumping him before it was generally known.  But no, the serial paid lobbyist MP, found out by telephone call from a BBC journalist while in a supermarket.  Of course, Johnson did not give him a head’s up, that would have shown concern for “a friend and colleague of mine for decades” and that is totally foreign to his narcissistic nature.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     I also thought that there might have been a little bit of negotiation to make the resignation happen smoothly with the promise of some honorific goodie some vague time in the future, but that too was crediting Johnson with a degree of strategy of which he is incapable.  Much better to just do it and the hell with the consequences – after all, that has served Johnson well in all the past fiascos.

     As a postscript to that paragraph, I have now read in the paper that No 10 does not rule out a peerage for the serial paid lobbyist ex-MP.  Who knows what that means?

     In a piece in the Guardian (4/11/21) by Kevin Rawlinson, he itemises Johnson’s U-turns writing that “a conservative count gives more than 30 often panicked policy changes since the 2019 general election.”  It makes sobering reading.  so, while urging you to read the original article in The Guardian, I'll list them:

 

 

 

'Ignore Covid' to national lockdown

Mass community testing

Bereavement scheme

Visa surcharge

Proxy voting

Rashford's free school meals campaign

NHS app

Reopening primary schools

Face coverings in shops

Huawei ban

Local contact tracers

Exam results in England

Face masks in schools

Eviction ban

England's second lockdown

Furlough scheme extension

Rashford's free school meals campaign - again

Cancelling Christmas

Lockdown a day after opening schools

Health secretary's resignation

Johnson and Sunak self-isolating

Foreign aid spending

Taking the knee

Air passenger quarantine

The Northern Ireland protocol

Critical worker pingdemic

Afghan guards

Natikonal insurance rises

Vaccine passports

Foreign lorry drivers

Sewage

Parliamentary standards and corruption

 

 

     How anyone can have faith in such a dithering incompetent like Johnson, defies belief.

     However, his abortive attempt to scrap the parliamentary standards system might point to his concern about what revelations and condemnations might result from the various financial irregularities, most pressingly in the refurbishment of his flat, issued by the very body he tried to abolish.  Junking democracy to safeguard his own selfish interests does seem a convincing explanation for the imposition of a three-line whip for something that was pretty self-evidently corrupt.

     Quite aside from party politics, the stench of corruption in the Conservative Party, is corrosive.  It taints the whole of political life, which is why it is essential that Johnson and the Conservative Party take responsibility for what the Conservative Party has done, apologise for the damage done and sack the persons responsible for the chaotic fiasco.

     The Daily Mail, in an otherwise scathing review of the despicable actions of Conservative MPs over the Paterson vote, tried to broaden the condemnation to all MPs.  That, in this instance is not fair, the only MPs who voted in favour of the abolition were Conservatives (with 1 DUP MP, quelle surprise!) they were not supported by any of the other parties.  The Conservatives own this particular piece of squalor.

     For me the viciously farcical air of the whole sordid episode is summed up in the story of Conservative MP Angela Richardson.  She was the parliamentary private secretary to Goblin Gove.  She abstained from voting in favour of the transparently corrupt motion and, on Wednesday evening she was duly sacked from her parliamentary private secretary post.  But 12 hours (sic) is a long time in politics, especially Conservative “politics”, and so by Thursday morning she had been reinstated in her job. 

     ‘Farce’ is too stable-sounding a term for what actually went on!

Just when you think . . .

 

 

 

 

 

You really don’t know whether to laugh or cry or start sharpening the knives for a major bloodletting! 

     Is it the swift volte-face or the fact that this discredited Conservative “government” even tried (with a three-line whip) to force through a sordid piece of legislation designed to defend poor little Owen Paterson MP?  One has to feel something akin to sympathy (or is it utter contempt?) for an MP struggling along on his MP’s salary in addition to more than £100,000 a year from the two companies that he lobbied on behalf of (against the rules) so assiduously. 

     And what has he done today?  Resigned, after his mate Johnson withdrew his support – as Johnson always does.  Johnson, the man who is liked by everybody except those who know him! 

     Well, I hope that poor little Paterson has managed to save something from the more than three hundred thousand a year that he “earned” to cushion his retirement.  Perhaps Johnson will make him a lord, after all our so-called Prime Minister has ennobled characters even less salubrious than Paterson. 

     Then, at least poor little Owen will have the lord’s per diem to try and encourage him forget the “cruel world of politics” (thank you poor little Paterson) that has been so unfair to him, by revealing (thank you The Guardian) his “egregious . . . paid advocacy” (thank you The Commons Standards Committee).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      

 

 

Meanwhile the farce of this episode is still playing itself out.  Johnson has completed yet another, not U-Turn, more screeching handbrake reversal.  He forced his MPs to support the unsupportable, and to go on the record defending it and then, when the heat was raised by people accusing him of sleaze and blatant corruption, abruptly cancelling what was deemed so important it needed a three-line whip!

     There must be “decent” (they must exist) Tory MPs who reluctantly supported the government against overwhelming evidence, who will now have to explain not only their own questionable judgement in voting to support the government, but also the complete about turn by the same government within less than 24hrs!  I wish them no luck, and I urge their constituents to question them closely.

     This is yet another example of poor leadership.  This whole episode has been so catastrophically managed that heads should roll, with the first aristo into the tumbril being the person who ordered his MPs to vote: Johnson.

 

G

 

     

 

 

 

 Johnson won’t, of course, resign.  Why?  Because Paterson has.   

     I wonder exactly what incentives he was offered by Johnson to do the "decent "thing?  (See: peerage above!)

 

Enough of the tawdry Conservatives.  I can’t help feeling that some sort of adapted version of my favourite quote from Christopher Marlowe, “Get you away, and strangle the Cardinal” fits this situation!

 

On an altogether more satisfactory note, I am now double vaccinated.  Not for Covid, I had the Johnson & Johnson, Jenssen Jab (so only one needle for me), but double vaccinated in that I had my seasonal flu jab (right arm) and my Covid booster of Pfizer (left arm) in a purpose build portacabin attached to my local health centre.  My booster was given six months to the day from the first Covid injection.  Thank you, health system of Catalonia!

     The only problem I now face is tackling the Byzantine security systems that protect my medical details so that I can download a copy of the vaccination certificate for use, and I have already been informed that proof of vaccination will be needed to participate in a small poetry group in Barcelona.  A sign of things to come perhaps.

 

This evening to Terrassa to celebrate a joint Name Day, with Amazon being an integral part of the way that presents have been sent in situ as another sign of things already conventional!