Category: Other stuff

Pretty concise and snappy title eh? Yes I do have a life outside Mountain Biking. No, it’s no better written or researched.

That’s Snow Joke

On By AlexIn Other stuff, PhotographyLeave a comment

Well it is actually.

There are some people with too much time on their hands. That’s not me at the moment, hence the recourse to smutty internet finds.

But with the big thaw turning lots of static snow to streams of moving water via a middle state best described as bloody horrible, it opens the window to actually go and ride my bloody bike. Which I need to do for many reasons, one of them being a certain snugness of trouser but the motivation is more about trying to catch up after losing two weeks to the ice and snow.

I shall never* complain about the wind and rain again, because being wet, cold and muddy is infinitely better to being inside.

* Okay that’s a lie. I shall moan less.

Customer Service

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff2 Comments

A topic oft returned to on the Hedgehog, although even I must admit to being surprised at the litany of frustration aired in the last four years. And not only that, but tail-gating that thought was the even more scary mental scribble that this blog has somehow limped into its’ fifth year. The only thing that sustains me is the knowledge that – collectively – you’ve wasted more time reading it, then I’ve spent violently plunging forehead to keyboard while writing it. But, really, five years – come on that’s not a bad lifespan for a pet, you’d get four hamsters, a couple of Gerbils and a neurotic rabbit out of that. But enough of my domestic ménage a lot fantasies, and let’s press on.

So we shall – predictably – begin with a complaint. A banker post for those wankers who have heard the phrase mentioned around their job description, yet it continues to pass them blissfully by. I’ve bought and paid for a collection of bike parts to finally complete the new ST4 project. For this week anyway, and a goodly number of them actually serve a purpose other than the pursuit of cosmic blingery. Yes another Internet transaction easily completed some time ago except for the tiny matter of delivery. ParcelForce’s tracking system appears to have been designed sometime during the first flushes of computer software, so spews out unrecognisable codes and truncated messages instead of actual information.

Reading between the runes, it became apparent that the delivery driver had three times loaded up my parcel, only to decide he really couldn’t be bothered with a 300 yard stretch of road that’s been successfully navigated by fleets of tractors, 4x4s, family cars, small hatchbacks, bicycles, a loon on a motorbike and even an octogenarian white knuckling a beige mini metro*. Being the kind of person who always first thinks of others (assuming there’s something in it for me of course), I spent ten minutes I’ll never get back trapped in the ACD** offering me all sorts of spurious services while not-very-gently redirecting me back to the informationally embarrassed web site.

Then it caught me out by a human cheerily announcing “Hello this is Susan, how can I help you?”. Two things sat behind a bitten lip; firstly “is it in your power to eat the person responsible for programming the IVR?” and hard on the heels of that was “Why if my local depot is 10 miles away in Hereford am I talking to someone with a fine cut Geordie accent?”. But no, remember I’m here to help, save them a trip, don’t put yourself out, let me collect the package, that kind of thing, so I opened with a pleasant “You can, I’d like to collect a package please”

I think Susan – lovely as she was – may have been a frustrated secret agent as she pumped me for information*** specifically around “the contents of my package” (Frankie Howerd had nothing on me at that juncture I can assure you), any secret tracking codes I may have fought some Germans for, and the exact nature of the request urgency. I lied – obviously – and told her I was a heart surgeon and budget cuts meant NHS patients didn’t get a bike courier any more. But since it’d only been there three days, it’d probably be fine. And then the conversation stopped being odd, and started being annoying.

“I’ll call the Gloucester Branch for you and see if that’s okay Dr. Leigh”

“Er, okay but my package/heart/bunch of lies is in Hereford”

“Oh I know, but” (Showing her inner workings of Royal Mail) “they never answer the phone there, so we’ll try Gloucester”

I may have gone on a bit here pointing out that the alternate approach of setting fire to the staff at the Hereford Depot until one felt compelled to answer the phone would be my preference. After a minute of this, I paused for breath only to realise I was on hold.

“Dr Leigh? Hello, yes I’ve spoken to the depot and there is some good news and some bad news”

“Right, well I’m looking at the patient, and frankly I wouldn’t want what’s going to happen on YOUR conscience if we can’t sort this out”

PAUSE: “Well, you could get it from Hereford normally no problem, but I’m afraid it is too icy for collections”

“I shall be the judge of that as I am in possession of the might X-Trail that laughs in the face of sheet ice”

“Oh no Sir, you don’t understand, it was too icy for THE DEPOT TO BE OPEN. There is no one there, Health and Safety you see They were afraid there would be falls and bruises”

And I thought “What a bunch of workshy slackers. Scared of falls? Really? They seem to spend 99{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2} of their time on their arses anyway, so already pretty bloody well practised I’d have thought. Can hardly tell the Post Office is still bloody nationalised can you? Because while normal commerce has happily carried on outside our door for a week, the postman’s been sat in the depot drinking tea and wondering whose turn it is to fetch more biscuits. Jesus, how bloody hard is it? When the bloke does turn up, it’ll be sodding hard suffering as he will from the lashing of my tongue followed up with the sledgehammer of unhappiness”

But I didn’t say it even when provoked with a “And they don’t expect to be in tomorrow, or Wednesday. Some hope for Thursday or Friday apparently if the weather improves”

Because really it’s not that important. I’ve other bikes to ride and I already have. It’s not Susan’s fault the Hereford Depot doesn’t think we’re worth breaking a leg for, and really there are a load of shit things going on in the world and this isn’t one of them. That’s a train of thought that has me cognisantly derailed though, because I don’t do reasonable nor do periods of the serene and the sanguine ever visit my much ruffled person.

I thought on and further realised I’d gone a whole week without a drink, and not for some pointless resolution but because my preference was for a nice cup of tea most evenings. Put this together and I find it troubling. Which is what I’ll be doing to the real Medical profession if it continues, specifically the Mental Health department.

It’s all new for 2010. I’m clearly going mad.

* Okay he ended up in the ditch, but that’s hardly statistically significant.

** Automated Call Director in case you were interested. Oh you were? Well actually, that’s a bit of a generalisation as ACD Is primarily for out-dial. What I was dealing with here was nothing more than a bog standard IVR on a closed loop. I know about this stuff, and you could too. No really, it’s terribly interesting, especially to girls.

*** At my age, that’s as good as it gets at 10am on a Monday morning.

Welcome back winter, we’ve missed you.

On By AlexIn Other stuff, PhotographyLeave a comment

The road outside our house has been resolutely un-gritted by Herefordshire Council for the previous two weeks. So when I saw a snowplough bundling plumes of head high snow into the verges, it became clear that travelling to London on a Six AM train was something I could contemplate from the warmth of my bed.

Snow Business! Snow Business!

The snow started yesterday afternoon and never really stopped. Last night, there was more than adequate for building a rather emaciated looking snowman with the traditional nose-y carrot and more contemporary Kiwi fruit eyes. This scary looking ice effigy stood guard for only a couple of hours before the sheer volume of snow tumbled it horizontal and entombed the remains under a fresh covering of the white stuff.

Snow Business! Snow Business!

Obviously the kids are out there right now building version 2 which has major structural improvements and a new carrot since some enterprising ground mammal made off with a free breakfast this morning. And while many animals must find all this snow a bit trying, our dog isn’t one of them. Never happier than chasing snowballs, eating ice or exploding in a spray of snowy rooster tails from fresh powder.

Snow Business! Snow Business!

Of which we have much in the local fields although a good portion of it now is in the kids’ hair/jackets/wellies after a snowball fight so violent, I thought we were going to have to call in the UN.

Snow Business! Snow Business!

It is snowing again now, and although the forecast calls for it to stop this evening, that same meteorological doom mongering predicts sub zero temperatures for at least another week. Which – I feel – is likely to transform this winter wonderland into something bloody annoying for anyone, say, wanting to go and ride their bike. Or, and significantly less important, getting to their official place of work. Or buying food, but hey we’ve been fattening up the kids all Christmas.

Snow Business! Snow Business!

Tonight, I’m dusting down the old Kona and taking it for an old school ride in the local woods. I expect this to end in a litany of sequential disasters involving trees, dug in tyres, comedy endos and concussion. Other than that, hard to see what can go wrong.

Dog-Gawn.

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography1 Comment

As all parents of pre-teen children secretly know, it’s vital to squeeze the few remaining drops of offspring obedience when the rare opportunity presents itself. In this case, Christmas presents were held as collateral blackmail until wellies, warm clothes and outside inserted themselves into the kids’ otherwise gleeful assault on innocent wrapping paper.

Christmas Day Walk (10) Christmas Day Walk (12)

It’s worth recording that my wrapping skills haven’t improved one jot in the last few years. This can be simply proven by noting that all the seasonal offerings were neatly arranged and identified with a colourful tag. Except my stuff which lay abandoned in a brutalised state after thirty minutes of frenzied boredom eventually gave way to cursing, tearing and the application of gaffer tape.

I think Carol’s got use to it now. Or possibly the word I’m looking for is resigned. The dog however hasn’t got used to snow and ice at all, and treats the whole experience as geographical catnip. Even with four-paw drive and a low centre of gravity, Murf still only sustains forward motion while the legs are scissoring sideways.

Christmas Day Walk (22) Christmas Day Walk (24)

And even this potentially lethal combination of crossed limbs doesn’t seem to bother him much. Not enough to baulk at the opportunity to crash through a semi-frozen pond to retrieve a iced in stick. I’ve said it before but it’s worth saying again, I don’t think this is because he is particularly stupid*, but because as a breed, retrievers see a stick and just can’t help themselves.

Christmas Day Walk Christmas Day Walk (9)

A little later the house was full of shredded wrapping paper and happy children, although we were a little disappointed at their lack of noticeable admiration for the MONSTER Scalextric we’d built for them as a Christmas surprise. First eBay, then a desperate assembly job between shoving them back to bed for the third time and falling asleep ourselves, brought forth this sprawling masterpiece of loops, jumps and dangerous curves.

More on this later, but it’s fair to say that there was a tinsiest little bit of buying it for ourselves 🙂 I wasn’t expecting any gifts really since I’ve had one new bike already, and another one is on order. But Santa unloaded his sack** in an entirely unexpected manner by bringing forth a shiny helmet***. A roadie one at that which was both keenly priced and styled to transform the wearer into the Mekon from the neck up.

Right must get on, now we’ve had a whole day off it’s time to pick up the paint brush again to ensure incoming relatives are not aghast at our ongoing renovation project. Only one of the two adults in the house cares about this, while the other is wisely keeping his mouth shut 😉

* Don’t get me wrong, he’s not a shining beacon of intellectual light but compared to other dogs, he’s not entirely clueless.

** Not sure the kids believe in Santa now, it may be all the rude jokes I’ve been telling them 🙂

*** I could go on for ages, just say the word.

A man for all seasons

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Other stuffLeave a comment

That’s me. Grumpy in the winter, generally morose in the Spring, Raging impotently at the Summer, and depressed come winter. So I’m not going to regale you with a slight lowering of the miserable co-efficient because we’ve passed the shortest day, instead showcasing my bold new approach to the rather moribund and out-of-touch seasonal edges.

Every cyclist is obsessed by two things, the weather and the potential for benightment*, one of which are largely driven by seasonal properties while the other an increasing factor of rich countries’ appallingly arrogant attitude to climate change. But leaving aside the tedious fact that we’re burning the planet with our rapacious attitude to making money, the months and the seasons make sense but the ordering doesn’t.

I’ve always understood the coldness or otherwise of the weather is largely based on how much Sun the ground receives and at what strength. Right so why would we start the Winter season AFTER the equinox where the big yellow orb has already passed its’ lowest point. Surely warmth should follow light and February is therefore less dark and cold than November. I partially accept this doesn’t appear to be the prevailing weather conditions over the last few hundred years, but I’m with the sceptics here so the word Trend is merely a bunch of letters starting with T.

Anyway here’s my proposal, Winter now sits snugly either side of the Solstice, so spring starts February 1 and finishes at the end of April. Summer (with a modernist alternative name “Monsoon Season“) runs May through July, leaving Autumn to round off the year with August, September and October being far more appropriate than chucking December in.

Admit it, it’s brilliant and I’m going to slip it into negotiations when someone in authority actually answers my email which can be simply summarised “GMT? What the fuck’s all that about, BST all year please“. Talking of someone in Authority, I’ve been talking to Carol about stuff revolving – predictably – about a lack of bicycles even tho – as she was keen to point out – a new one appeared less than a week ago. And none have gone the other way.

However, finally won over/bored beyond belief by my watertight logic and impassioned argument, she’s agreed that Yes, I do need an ST4, right now with no point waiting since it’d be at least£20 more after the VAT increase. So I’ve ordered one, and made a positive commitment to thin out the thicket of bicycles that have now overspilled into my office. I’m downsizing to 4 next Spring (Starting March 1 remember) when the three season MTB’rs emerge from hibernation, blinking in the sunlight and in desperate need of a shiny new RetroBike/Ti Frame/CX Bike.

Probably. More likely than our glorious leaders deciding they’d rather do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons, because it’s far more important they get re-elected.

* And most mountain bikers would like trail condition, kit blinginess, tyre choice, fashista status and the next new thing to be taken into consideration.

The Menace Sledge

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography5 Comments

Before we start, let’s stop for a second so I can get my excuses in early. Firstly – after the flurry of activity some time ago – there have been some problems in the actual build due to exploding drill bits, lost wood and last minute design changes. This is what happens if you put a ten year old in charge. The only possible way things could have got any worse is if I’d be installed in the post of engineering director.

But I was happy in my role of “insane driller” and “frenzied hammerer” – as I’ve said to you before, to a man who only understands the hammer, all the word is a nail Anyway what’s built isn’t finished because I couldn’t find the right powertool to inflict more injury on the mutation that squats before you. Secondly, the lost wood I obliquely referred to earlier may have been accidentally set on fire.

Because the “to be painted” pile was left perilously close to the “to be burned pile“. And as I trudged down to the shed for the sledgehammer*, I couldn’t help noticing some brightly coloured wood being licked by hot flames. I did offer “something from the woodpile, Madam?” to bring the beast back to height, but Verbal has even less patience that me and wanted it finished today.

Which it isn’t. Too cold for rattle can paint, not enough snow to see whether it’ll maim my firstborn in a) ten yards b) five yards or c) no yards at all as it splinters on first impact with the snow. But what’s there – as you can see – has all the skill, craft and care that an artisan such as myself can lavish upon it. For example, how many sledges do you know that have “go faster holes” in the runners plugged by modellers’ clay? Or a cunningly installed 3/4 drill bit that could – at any time – dislodge itself to become an unwanted brake.

She likes it. God only knows why. Maybe it was the lovely job I did with the rifling bit** to countersink the seat screws. I mean it’s clearly dangerous enough already without subjecting Verbal to metal chafing. She thinks it’s a triumph, I’m not so sure but I am reasonably confident what anyone else who sees it may classify it as. Already have my strategy for that “no, no nothing to do with me, it’s something that made in school, bless ’em”

Verbal is hoping for snow. I’m hoping for a some queue jumping allowances at Hereford A&E.

* I had some fine and neat work to complete.

** Probably not the proper term, but that’s what it looks like to me

“We’ve lost a carriage!”

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LOST? How can you lose something 80 foot long full crammed full of noisy humans? I mean it was only standard class but even so, derailing the entire lot of ’em (or “ballast” as I believe the airline industry terms the poor buggers slammed into the cheap seats) seems to some way beyond a bit careless.

I have been re-introduced to what I believed was the lost art of shunting earlier (for those in London, this has absolutely nothing to do with attempting to remove a hamster from behind a gerbil, cunningly inserted in a bodily orifice) as we downsized the train for reasons lost in the feedback of the PA system. The delay was pretty epic but since I’d already been abandoned for 45 minutes in the pissing rain, at least I was merely irritated rather than partially drowned.

On finally arriving in London, my insertion into the late rush hour tunnel rats was met with a piece of marketing so breathtakingly deceitful, I found myself in grudging admiration at the chutzpah. It alleged the Circle line had “been improved for all passengers” which sounds good until you examine the facts swirling below the spin.

Because all the self congratulatory signage could have been simply replaced by “The circle line is no longer a circle, it’s more of an aspirational arc”. No longer can one travel from Paddington to Farringdon in spherical motion unless you’re desperate to change at Edgeware Road. A station just one stop from mine and clearly of not enough interest for any tube train to actually terminate there in my lifetime.

Slightly pissed off but unsurprised, I schlepped a mile on the lonely road of a windswept platform before being deposited at the Hammersmith and City line complete with funky new electronic information boards. Heading West it told me a train would be along in nine minutes which was somewhat superseded by the physical manistification of said tube turning up 30 seconds later. Not so much luck heading the other way with the cheerful LCD announcing “more information soon“.

Not soon enough, after five more minutes I’ll never get back, I engaged the only reliable form of transport – Shank’s Pony – and strode back past the train I’d left some twenty minutes earlier in a quest to find some transport that might take me to work. This proved to be down about a thousand slippy steps – lift broken for about the past epoch if the fading and careworn sign was any judge – finally transporting me to a destination for which I’d left some five and a half hours before.

On the way home, things went well up to the point where Edgeware road inserted itself unhappily into my travel plans. For a while anyway, certainly enough time for me to miss my train by a good twenty seconds. There is really no other feeling quite like running up a platform as the train ruthlessly steams out of the station. I particularly enjoyed the passengers waving and grinning as they flashed past.

So today I’ve been abandoned, randomly shunted, delayed and sent in every decreasing circles by smug signage and lies to the power of marketing. A Brit like myself can only be pushed so far so – in a moment of vibrating fury – I decided to complain. In writing. The response from various bored looking officials can be summarised thus: “Go bark at the moon, it’ll be about as effective and save on stamps and administration”

Instead I’ve decided to conduct my own survey which can be found below:

1. Was your train:
a) on time
b) a few minutes late
c) apologetically wheezing into the station some 45 minutes past the scheduled arrival time

2. If you answered a) or b), how was this delay communicated to you:
a) Frequent updates and apologies on both platform and train
b) Apologies when boarding the train
c) Staff apparently either asleep or laughing behind their hands.

3. Was the weather:
a) Balmy and dry
b) A tad damp
c) Biblical characterised by a man with a beard looking for some cheap wood and a second giraffe.

4. If the train was not on time, was it able to make some up on the journey:
a) Yes, arrived early to London
b) No, but it didn’t get any worse
c) Not even close, over an hour late most of which was spent resting at Worcester Shrub Hill

5. Now on the train, was quiet carriage:
a) Quiet
b) Occasionally interrupted by pointless and desperate pleadings to use the travelling chef
c) In a state of barely contained violence as two brummies debated the finer points of the Villa front 2.

6) Was the quality of the Chef on Board food:
a) Excellent. Like a five star restaurant
b) Adequate, it’s only a little kitchen after all
c) Non existent after the oven apparently exploded while tackling a difficult bacon sandwich.

7) Was the Tube Journey:
a) Seamless, efficient, clean, well signed and quick
b) Slightly less unpleasent that being shot from a canon
c) Entirely useless with only the outside chance that random electrocution might visit IPOD’d passengers to cheer me up.

8) And finally,how would you describe your journey today as:
a) Excellent. Why would anyone choose a different form of transport?
b) Average, better than driving I suppose
c) Unflinchingly sh!t and depressing.

If you answered mainly c), you are clearly travelling First Great Western and London Underground. Our focus groups suggest investing in a time share donkey or training to become a ultra runner. Both of these experiences are likely to be cheaper, quicker and significantly more pleasant than continuing with the delusion that£150 and four hours should be enough to get one man to London for 9am.

If you answered b), then your trip is on one of the UK’s franchises not currently massively in debt, or having an accident.

If you answered all a), you are in Switzerland.

I can’t believe I’m saying this but BRING BACK CHILTERN RAILWAYS. No really, and a fully licensed bar on the 05:52 from Ledbury.

“I will vacumn for food”

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

My eldest daughter holds two esteemed positions. Firstly she is officially the laziest child in the world, a tiring enough job apparently without having the additional burden of ensuring that “the UK’s second messiest bedroom”* has a million toys dumped all over the floor.

Still she soldiers on, sustained only by two hourly feeds and the odd inter-meal snack. As with all parents, we’ve run the full gamut of techniques to extract the tiniest bit of help from our offspring. Guilt (doesn’t work, they don’t have any), emotional blackmail (pointless, they just flip it back doubled), and – predictably – cash incentives.

Even fiscal stimulation has its’ limits. Pocket money is halved if dishwasher’s aren’t emptied and pets go unfed. Yet this sanction is met with a thought process far beyond their tender years which goes something like “50p for doing bugger all, a quid for getting off my arse. 50p it is then”.

So withVerbal, I’ve decided the route to her head is through her stomach. Apparently we’re not allowed to introduce WorkHouse rules without risking embarrassing visits from social services, so instead I offered up the delight of a chocolate moose** in return for a quick mow of the ground floor with the hoover.

This daily task is more than necessary when your dog moults all year round. Amazing the mutt isn’t bald considering the mohair shirt our oak floor wears after he’s rubbed himself down with a handy floorboard.

She wasn’t keen. First tactic was a straight no, and I countered with a fulsome description of the illicit delights of the fridge’s top shelf. She moved onto negotiation and offered some desultory sweeping, for which I offered not chocolate but fruit. Then – because this is a girl who can look at a donkey and thinks it lacks the ability to be properly stubborn – she sulked and went without.

Eventually she grumped outside and helped plant a million bulbs that will either create a riot of colour come spring, or – and with our horticultural history I’m going with this – everything will die, and the weeds will create a replica Day of the Triffids set. I still withheld the chocolate, because – when all is said and done – I intend to wield the small amount of power I still hold with extreme cruelty.

I see us at a crossroads here. Two options present; firstly accept that her teenage years are only just over two years away and we might was well get use to it, or make up a sign “I WILL WORK FOR FOOD” and break out the starvation diet.

Being a caring, sharing parent, in touch with a generation of kids who were never ritually beaten for such transgressions as speaking out of turn, I’m thinking she’d look good with a sign 🙂

* The holder and undisputed title holder being her sister.

** Not the whole animal, she’s only 10.

Moist

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff, PhotographyLeave a comment

Not the photo. Not my model either. This was the first flight of my friends’ glider spanning 4 metres, and quite a few days to get it ready to chuck. It all went very well until he accidentally activated the airbrakes, wherein the glider changed from wind-riding, effortless flight to soil-guided bomb.

It missed the tree, but still hit the ground. And then broke in half. Still apparently repairable, although such alchemy is beyond a simple man like me who looks at broken stuff and thinks “firewood”.

Of which, I moved about half a ton today from one side of the garden to another. Reasons unknown. It has tweaked my bad knee – when I attempted an Irish leggy rotational pummeling twirl on a wet, spherical log – to the point that I disappointed the mutt by curtailing the evening walk on medical grounds.

A ground that was both saturated and getting more so. The dog showed every outward visible sign of enjoyment while I limped along, grumbling into a facefull of almost sleet and wondering at what point it may stop raining.

That was some time ago, and yet there is nothing outside that suggest we’ll not be rowing to the gate in the morning. A morning where I should be riding, but I’ve already made my excuses. I know I was giving it the big one about how riding in the shit, and the grim was fantastic, but I’ve come to my senses.

Wet, Cold, Dark. Pick two. Otherwise, pick up a bottle and the remote control. That’s where it’s at in Winter ’09.

“I hate computers”

On By AlexIn Other stuff4 Comments

Not me specifically, I’m more nuanced than that. I’d rather focus my attention on bloaty applications that attempt to ruin my day – spookily all developed by Microsoft.

I am however pretty familiar with the much trotted “Computers are Rubbish” line generally accompanied by a bunch of inventive lies we used to file under the rather superb PEBKAC (Problem Exists Between Keyboard And Chair) acronym, but I’ve never really understood it.

How can you hate computers? Do you loathe your car, your TV, your phone* or your microwave? Do you haughtily reject the lives saved by computer technology, the democratic power unleashed by the Internet**, the technical endeavour to put a man on the moon or encircle the globe single handed on a boat, or just stripping out repetitive drudgery and – quite important this – giving me a indoor job for all my working life.

People don’t hate computers, they hate being shackled to the Neon Tube, stuck in a electronic rut of a daily grind, dealing with the shit they need to do all buried under some User Interface that can’t read your mind or talk back. Frankly,they should be grateful for people like me that lived in the geeky world before computers became mainstream. We properly suffered; nothing worked very often and when it did it was almost entirely useless and mostly incomprehensible, and essentially we’d have been better off with a pad and few crayons***

But even we pioneers are now on the wrong side Digital divide. Computer technology is embedded to everyone under 30 and they embrace it, love it and mostly don’t even notice it. I watch my kids mash chunks of disparate technology into something ace, understandingly little other than it really is child’s play to them. Which is what they still are and yet technology allows them to be adult, whereas us proper gray people cling onto desperate skills such as being able to type. Like that’s going to help. The world is seemingly increasingly divided into those who live their lives immersed in technology, comfortable in it’s embrace and not at all worried where it might lead go, and everyone else who wonders if this all started when we couldn’t programme the video recorder.

Anyway let’s hope they are right because otherwise that’s our pensions screwed. Actually my division should fade to grey, because my technology savvy is pretty much akin to riding a bike. I know enough to be dangerous and occasionally credible, but I certainly don’t hate everything which defies my 42 year old understanding. Those who wish to be digital hermits really have got it wrong. And worse than that it’s hypocrisy crossed with nostalgia for a better, simpler world that never really existed. They are the poster children of Luddites- smashing the machinery of the industrial revolution while wearing the very stuff ratcheting cheaply off a million power looms.

And even that misses the point. There is this odd perception that humankind is getting more intelligent with every generation and yet this is clearly not the case. More enlightened possibly? I’m not sure about that either. But technology is getting very clever and – here’s the thing – cleverer than us. To hate computers is as pointless as hating rain, we’re powerless to stop the march of technology – we may as well chuck a snowball into an avalanche.

If you are going to the trouble of hating something, make it a worthwhile cause, the BNP, poachers killing the last tigers, world leaders cravenly burning the environment on the altar of developing nations. Humans – yeah we deserve it, but computers are pretty bloody blameless.

* During the 80s pre-pc bunfight, we had a Betamax moment where a great bit of hardware going by the name of the Acorn Atom failed to take the market by storm through a depressing combination of shit logistics, crap marketing and some ginger fuck selling ZX Spectrum’s. There is a direct line from that chipset to the stuff that runs virtually every mobile phone. Not many people know that. Understandable really, as it’s not very interesting

** And not forgetting the no.1 app on that. People used to think there was no money in Porn. How the world has changed.

*** I concede this many be analogous to the “Vista Experience”