The Ami Bios Paradox

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography3 Comments

Oh the irony

This was my PCs response to the remarkable conceit that – after 1000 posts and nearly six years – the time has come for a vanity self publishing project. I can sense that my readership (the time-rich, the dribbling, the family members, the hanging-in-there-it-might-be-funny, a small but valued crowd) are almost as excited as I at the prospect of new ways for the Hedgehog to spam his shit*. More on this soon. Obviously. I mean I know I’m interested.

Back when computers were maintained by ex-TV repair men steeped in the secret lore of the Soldering Iron, this sort of thing used to happen all the time. Much to the amusement of the latter day Luddites quipping “Does it need a starting handle” and “Can you get the football on that”. Difficult and dark days for us Pen Protector Brethren. But while we may have lost the battle, we won the war – see those good friends of mine in the vanguard of personal computing? Look at them now. All working in IT. H’mm.

In 2011 tho, that message is bloody stupid. Operating systems and clever hardware gubbins take care of all the old problems. Of course they do, otherwise what we’d be looking at in fifteen years of constant revolution would be a few nice screen drivers covering up loads of shitty hardware. Nobody would buy into that, surely.

Before I lost the keyboard, my will to live had already declared itself mostly expired. Excel handed me a jaunty rotating orb, no autosave and the prospect of recreating the last hours grind.In frustration, I may have gently tapped the keyboard to non-violently show my displeasure. At which point it stopped working. Only not quite, with occasional random key presses illiciting contrary beeps from deep inside the PC case.

The mouse was also partially crippled. Wanging it about in the approved manner generated nothing on screen until – in a sudden rush – mouse poo trails would be etched onto the screen and applications were mysteriously opening and closing. Considering demon possession the culprit, I was on the cusp of an axe based exorcism when a tiny inner voice** wondered if it might not be better to research the problem before the firing up the killfile.

I find this is a known problem. And not just because I know about it and have shouted “the bloody keyboard’s knackered” at a chicken who was largely indifferent to my plight. This makes it absolutely on message with the rest of the family when faced with my mindless ranting. The Internet on the now non broken Mac explained that the wireless keyboard communicated with the receiver using a secure link, and may need resetting.

Sorry? Secure Link? For a keyboard? Who is going to intercept my messages? Frankly if I see that chicken wearing a headset and taking notes, I’ve got far bigger problems than broken technology. Someone in marketing has clearly been involved here “yeah well we can sell it for more cash if we go for the ego-message and tell them they’re all really important so need secure comms”. Dilbert-Esque.

The resolution was to press a combination of keys designed for a man with four hands and a spare nose. I tried it, nada. Then it became apparent additional software was required. Which I couldn’t download as I had no keyboard. So I mailed it from another machine. But Outlook wouldn’t let me open it without a verification code. Which I couldn’t type in. Because – and I think you know what’s coming – I HAD NO SODDING KEYBOARD.

Out of options I went for the nuclear reboot. And you can see what happened. What you can’t see is me motoring off to Ross to borrow a spare keyboard from a friendly sysadmin, and returning with a murderous glint in my eye “you’ve got one chance PC, see that keyboard in my left hand? That’s your chance. See this axe in my right hand? That’s the consequence of playing hardball”It crumbled under the very real threat of hardware evisceration.

Triumphantly logging back into Windows, my analytical and honed mind fashioned a sequence of idiot-proof testing involving pushing of buttons, removal of batteries, scratching of head, flipping of leads and loading of drivers which fixed absolutely nothing. It was then the realisation struck that the last 20 minutes of extreme troubleshooting would have been more effective had I remembered the plug the keyboard receiver back in.

It was so nearly the axe then. But no, after a further year or so of my fading years and more blind alleys than a Microsoft Mobility Presentation*** success was a non flatulent keyboard, a mouse without St. Vitus Dance and barely any noticeable percussive damage to expensive technical items.

The way things are going thought, it’s hard to see how this can be a stable state of affairs. I’ve not put the axe back in the shed yet. But I have sharpened it.

* this is a marketing term. Not a medical condition. I know about marketing now. I’ve read a book. And renamed my home office to “The Evil Marketing Shed“. Everything else you’ve heard about marketing is fluff – all I’m missing are some braces, a breath spray and a personality bypass.

** The infinitely minute bit of Al marked “common sense”

*** I find IT “in jokes” work well to people not involved in IT. To be fair they don’t work that well for the rest of us.

Does anyone have a flamethrower?

On By AlexIn Bikes, Photography3 Comments

Decapitated tyre levers

Look closely. See the decapitation of those innocent tyre levers pitting their pathetic tensile strength against the might of a swiss roll. A set of wheels designed by a bored Geneva physiotherapist short of broken thumb/bloodied elbow business. Aided and abetted by a pair of tyres with all the mallability of a religious nutcase.

A combination best dealt with by ignoring the traditional process of firing sharp plastic into your eye at somewhere beyond the speed of light*, and instead moving straight to the flamethrower. Because if I ever get a problem outside of my hammer equipped workshop, there is absolutely no chance of wrenching these rubber limpetsfrom the wheel. Short of going postal with an chainsaw.

Tempting. So very tempting.

And when the tyres do finally wear past the point of usable tread, the kindest thing for everyone involved shall be to ritually burn them in a viking style burial. This may be sooner than planned with Maxxis’s ever so amusing random sizing meaning the large volume tyre bought for the back would easily fit in the forks, currently occupied by something suffering from compound bulimia.

So probably a perfect combination for nutting trees and receiving a friendly wave from all the staff as I’m wheeled back into Hereford A&E. But while this is a better than evens chance of how this might end, it plays well against the nailed on certainty of me malleting myself senseless should I undertake anything other than kicking the bloody things occasionally. And giving them a meaningful glare.

Much of the evening was spend grunting while knelt on the floor and sliding around in a sea of washing up liquid. There’s good money to be had pedalling such things I’m told, but I’m struggling to see the pleasure it in. It wasn’t until Carol wearily answered my cry** for help that any potential personal Armageddon was averted.

In the previous two hours, I’d managed to fit one tyre. The wrong way around. Having checked it twice, busted a thousand blood vessels squeezing it onto the rim, fernangled air into its carcus through the simple dint of shouting at it, and triumphantly marked it as complete. It would not be an overstatement to consider my mental state to be somewhere between extensively vexed and borderline psychotic.

Carol spent exactly 10 seconds looking at the problem, having already suffered a 90 second spittle flecked rant to the tune of “it’ll never fit, I’ve hit it an everything, every time I stuff that bit in, that bit falls out***, that bit doesn’t work even if you hit it with this sledgehammer here and the whole fucking thing is fucked. And yes I am sulking. And no laughing at me isn’t helping”

Her solution was both simple and elegant. Two minutes later we had something I assumed could only ever be mocked up with CGI. I was neither embarrassed or relieved just resigned to the never-more-obvious fact that I am a mechanical numpty with the patience of a special needs horsefly.

I tidied up in an old mans shuffle, wondering if my days of opposed thumbs were over. And while the overall plan of having a set of Mud specific wheels for the Forest augmented by rather more Malvern based hoops has come good, one has to consider the cost in pounds, injuries and penance.

It did make me wonder though, if there might not be a market – for those of us on the ‘under no circumstances give them a spanner‘ side of mechanical incompetence – for pneumatic tyres. Could make me enough of a fortune to fund reconstructive thumb surgery

* All that money spent attempting to disprove Einstein’s theory of relativity. Far easier to track the progress of a slippy tyre lever exciting the orbit of the rim and accelerating into the face of the poor bastard JUST TRYING TO FIT ONE SODDING TYRE.

** Oh FOR FUCKS SAKE, if there is a God, will you please manifest yourself preferably with some kind of duck-billed platypus tyre lever.

*** This, I assume, is how fat people get dressed. Either than or it’s a pretty good description of first sexual experiences.

Inflation? I think not.

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography7 Comments

Vintage British Argos 1985 Catalogue

Everything costs more than it used to, right? Basic theory of supply and demand spiked by importing everything except greed, which we’re pretty good at making ourself. Except computers of course which conform toMoore’s law,and are further subsidised by the post-industrial-revolution work-houses of the Far East.

Which goes some way to explaining why every family I know seem to have more complex electronics than people. Quick count here shows 3 Smartphones, this Macbook, my PC, Carol’s PC, kids laptop, Kids PC, Android Tablet, Kindle and a wide assortment of Nintendo stuff hiding under sofa covers. Plus a drawer full of abandoned PDAs and Dumbphones.

But back in the day when sitting in front of a computer screen wasn’t considered a normal way to spend your entire life, things were somewhat different. That fantastic scan from the 1985 Argos Catalogue (thanks Will, top find) showcases the Commodore 64 at a nadge under£200. Inflation link that and ratchet it forward 25 years and you’d be in the market for most of the stuff we have in our house.

So when Mr Olsen (head of DEC-then Compaq then HP, now who the hell knows) confidently predicted that no one would ever need a computer at home back in 1979, he wasn’t being entirely stupid. Because what kind of mentalist would pay£45 for a tape drive when normal people would be using that kind of money to go on holiday.

Ah, exciting times tho. I went all misty eyed on being shown the next picture

Vintage British Argos 1985 Catalogue

I’m not so sure which is my favourite; the microdrive or the attache case. I love the idea of turning up to a meeting, outing the Speccy and then asking to borrow a monitor, plugging it all in, firing it up and then waiting for something to load from the microdrive. And for what? To play Manic Minder? Business is a far poorer place now with the ubiquitous laptop, powerpoint and projector.

There’s much, much more to be found hereand I’d encourage a full cup of tea perusal of it. Last night, I found myself nodding at items staking a placeholder in my life from long, long ago. Including – and this may surprise those of you who have actually met me – a hairdryer.

“The past is a different country, they do different things there” so said LP Hartley back in 1948. I think the bloke was onto something.

If you want mud, you’ve got it.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike RidingLeave a comment

And if you don’t… probably best to stay inside. Until about March. It seems only a couple of weeks ago* we were hanging on the tails of fantastic weather and still dusty trails. Then the sky broke and poured rain with a frequency which sends religious types to pairing up animals.

My response was somewhat more pragmatic. Hang the bag of expensive bearings on the wall and prepare the Ti hardtail for the muddy season. Not everyone’s idea of a winter bike, draped as it is with expensive / notoriously un-bombproof stuff, but to me merely lacking the right tyres.

There is a right load of old toss talked about tyre sizes, pressures, spread patterns and TPI by those who find themselves in a group internet session where everyone else is wrong. The rest of us happily acknowledge the days of the murderous knobbly are mostly behind us** And yet, we cannot resist a bit of a fettle with the European Tyre Mountain we’ve erected over a few riding seasons.

My approach was to take advice from a friend to whom I’d already bequeathed the last set of tyres he’d recommended me. Always a man ready to give out a second chance, a shiny new set of bristling rubber adorned my mighty steed ready – if not able – to face the challenges of water mixed with dirt.

Mostly water to be fair. And wet leaves. And dark. And more rain. It’s like winter with the cold replaced by more dark and more rain. But things started brightly with laser beams reflecting in tarmac puddles as we pulled our way into the hills. At this point my bike and tyre choice were spot on – fast and direct gaining me pretend fitness as we steamed ever upwards.

Stuff only started to go wrong when we replaced road with trail. I didn’t have time for a proper panic as the front wheel headed off in a direction no way instigated with anything I was doing with the bars. Because the rear tyre bypassed the whole grip/slip/slide sequence instead just barrelling sideways at 90 degrees on contact with a small but moist root. My defiant battle cry was – as rated by those who heard it – more akin to a choked off whimper.

So I fell off. Obviously. Crashing is too kind a word. Crashing sounds as if something difficult has been attempted and the failure penalty was a huge stack. Battered but worthy. This is not a description that can be applied to a man lying on his side fetching globules of mud from his ear. The first time it was slightly amusing, although I found my humour mostly exhausted after the third soft thud into trailside vegetation.

“These tyres are shit” I pointed out looking for some one to blame “Why did you say they were any good?” / “Good for Summer” came the reply. Right. Could be a misunderstanding. Could just be my riding buddies are all bastards 😉 It was like riding in a minefield, every so often some innocuous obstacle would explode sending the – now fatalistically weary – pilot into the comforting arms of a tree or barbed wire fence.

A week passed and some of the bruises faded. So disregarding historical precedent, I accepted a part worn tyre from the “rubber expert” after sealing the previous incumbent of the rim in a locked box marked “Under no circumstances, open before summer 2012“. Heading back out with the attitude that it couldn’t be any worse, my joy at a fantastic moon-lit ride was occluded by a pea souper of Dickensian proportions.

High powered lights are pretty useless in these conditions. For all of their technology and night-sun reach they lack a fog setting and are merely reflected by the clamping fog. The first descent perfectly skewered the Venn intersection of Danger/Blindness/Sort of Fun. It is known merely as “terror“. A quick “fuck that for a game of soldiers navigational conference” saw us dropping into cheeky wooded singletrack right on the cusp of usable traction.

Great fun especially if you make motorbike noises as the back end steps out. Important not to take yourself too seriously at times like this. I mean we’re a bunch of middle aged me plastered head to foot in slurry while everyone else is tucked up in front of the X-Factor. Hah, more fool them.

I didn’t crash. Everyone else did. This cheered me up enormously as did the lack of landmine action with the new tyre selection. Less joy was derived by the pre-loved tyre puncturing in spite of my mincetastic, brake-heavy riding. It was at this point I realised I didn’t have a pump. Which became less of an issue when it became apparent I didn’t have a tube either. Saved only by those very mates I was laughing at earlier.

And, to be fair, there was a bit of an Atmosphere after Martin and I refused to follow a man training hard for next years Time Trial Season back into the hills. While Mr. Labrador seemed keen and determined to fetch the entire North end of the Malvern Hills, we felt that time had already passed Beer O’ Clock. He did go for some distance before accepting that our mugging “You’re going the wrong way” wasn’t some kind of motivational instruction.

All’s well that ends well. Which of course it did, because being out with your mates in shitty conditions means guilt free school night beer and affirmation that Gyms are for people who don’t understand that outside is always more fun than inside.

What’d have been even better was a weekend in Coed-Y-Brenin currently being ripped up by the boys from the Forest. Sadly, and in an entirely unexpected turn of events, work got in the way and I had to quit before a pedal was turned. Still I’m sure they’ll tell me how great it was. At some length 😉

* The chronological evidence suggests the answer may be that it was exactly two weeks ago.

** First bike I ever had was shod with “Tioga Pyschos” – never had a product been so aptly named.

“It just works”

On By AlexIn Other stuff5 Comments

Right there is the strap-line from the Apple Fundamentalists on a personal crusade to convert us heathen Windows users to The One True Way. Apple may not be the only fruit , but don’t try that line of argument with this lot unless you’re keen to include some form of Jihad in your list of personal goals.

You may have noticed a slightinconsistencyin my technology messages through the flip-flopping of “what’s broken this week?” and similar crushing disappointments. In my defence, it’s hard not to feel asoupçonof vexation when something that just works just bloody doesn’t.

It’s probably my fault. Man and boy steeped in IT lore with 20+ years against the RamPack has put me in a position where I don’t seem to understand anything. A masterful career choice I’m sure you’ll agree.

I sort of understood Windoze. You accepted it was going to be a bit rubbish, would require updating every nine seconds, had build inobsolescenceas a revenue generator and randomly crash with some splendid message to the tune of “0x455320 Parity Error“. It was even sort of comforting. I speak from recent experience after Carol’s hard drive entered a graunchy terminal death spiral leaving us the joyful task of installing Windows 7 on a new one.

Not much works. Plug the camera in and it’s an electronic raspberry down the Internet trumpet. Attempt to print something and the fancy UI does nothing but surface that parity error with nice rounded aero corners. My good friend Frank who is properly competent in all things desktop has pronounced it almost dead on arrival and recommended – seriously – a course of action which involves throwing everything away except for the new hard drive.

I’m pretty much okay with that if I can do the throwing. As in I’ll be throwing an axe and the system unit shall be more the “throwee“. The MacBook tho stalks a higher ground full ofsatisfiedexpressions and infinite smugness. Macs don’t go wrong ever – even saying such a thing means a kitten dies somewhere. Really, that’s the prevailing view I took during full immersion into iClone at the London Store.

Like I say, it’s probably my fault. I installed some google software on it so therefore should be grateful that such stream-crossing* lunacy was not rewarded by electronic parps emitted at high speed followed by a controlled explosion of the processor. I’m sure the fan speed increased as it attempted to fight itself out of the metal case rather than be stuck inside with the enemy.

It’s not totally broken. It performs more than adequately if tethered to a power socket. On the battery? Not so much. This – I feel – is a serious flaw in any portable device. At best it’s a health and safety nightmare as I travel around the house trailing cables at ankle height, at worst it’s shopping for a 150 mile extension lead to allow me to work on the way into London.

Not good. Not good at all. Which brings me to Apple support. Lovely people, located in-country and not hidden behind more than five minutes of virtual barbed wire. Sadly any conversation which starts with “waa ai man” and finishes with “champion” generally has bits in between filled with not much other than bewildered silence.

So it’s off down the menders when I’m next in Brum. Apparently I have to make an appointment. I assume crashing it through the window with the force of a few lost evenings is an adequate way of presenting my credentials.

New iPhone tho. That’s lovely. No back button, but I’m sure I’ll find it in time. Although I barely dare touch it as a) it was SILLY MONEY and b) a few swipes from Mr. IT Jonah here shall likely be the end of it.

I must be the only man in the entire global field of apple sheep that has not yet downloaded Angry Birds. I feel a better way to ease my frustration through pointless activity shall be to savagely smash my head against this table until the feelings of mild irritation subside.

Still looking for something happy and uplifting to finish on, at least my future earnings potential/possible requests for food parcels is not predicated on a thorough understanding of how computers work 😉

* don’t make me explain it. Everyone in the world has watched ghostbusters by now surely?

Have spade, will dig.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography2 Comments

Trailbuilding afternoon
This is about as much fun as a middle aged man can have armed only with a spade, a small bicycle, a wood with a status of “probably legal” and an afternoon running away from other stuff that is apparently more important.

More important than riding bicycles? A strange concept that resonates somewhere between “hollow” and “not at all” in my world. So armed with a mate, a foldingentrenchmenttool and a mental age of about 7, we set about clearing trails in a bijou landscape filled with bomb-holes, steep sided run-ins, leaf-fall and apparent abandonment.

For about three years, the mutt and I haveperambulatedalong the main track, occasionally exploring by shuffling down banks and fighting through brambles. At no time have I come across anyone showing an interest in the acres of non-coppiced trees, or – in fact – anyone at all. One snowy December, twenty happyminutes were passed by Murf and I arse surfing down the banks into the bomb holes. It’s may not be much of a wood, but it feels like mine.

Surroundedby larger wooded areas – all of which are filled withpheasantshoots – and bookended by the main road in the valley and the crumbling one on the ridge, this little bit of green seems largely forgotten and neglected. So perfect for some trail poaching.

Trailbuilding afternoonTrailbuilding afternoon

In my lunatic cross-bike days, trails were scoped out but largely ignored mainly through fear of death. And with so much brilliant riding 20 minutes away, it’s easy to understand door step ignoration of something half as good but twice as convenient. But today we had a proper look and were consumed with “Line Disease“*

Poaching trails not entirely without cheek has a certain etiquette. Pitching up sporting petrol driven chainsaws for example is frowned upon. As is chopping down anything that’s still alive, although selective pruning is fine. Drop-Shipping home built planks and north shore isn’t on at all, but smoothing soil over a likely stump is absolutely the ethos of cheeky trails.

Trailbuilding afternoonTrailbuilding afternoon

We scoped a lot but built only a single trail before the call of night, tea and medals. It’s a pretty fun 20 second drop off the ridge, cranking right between two trees on off camber loam, bit of speed into a corner needing a berm and then two jumps, the first little, the second merely a trail pimple.

But with a bit of thought and a lot of effort, there is a loop to be made here. It might not be the 100k of sublime singletrack hidden in the Forest or the steep and deeps of the Malverns, but it’s right on my doorstep and I’ve a winter to get through.

Trailbuilding afternoonTrailbuilding afternoon

My deeply held view of legally-ambivalent trails is simply this; we’re not destroying anything, we’re not breaking anything, we’re not nailing stuff to trees**, we are merely making use of dead space, forgotten land, abandoned acreage. I almost think of it as a public service – although I accept other views are available. Wrong, but available.

But the very best thing about creating something from nothing is this; while you may be 44 on the outside, it males you feel about 11 years old. And only someone with a less developed sense of humour than an accountant would see this as a bad thing.

* Many MTB’rs suffer from this: Look at something clearly unridable by you, stroke chin, rotate wrist 90 degrees describing the line through a shark like wiggle of the hand and declare “that’ll go”. Pause. “Probably“. Pause. “Fancy trying it first?”

** Until recently, a practice exclusively left to Christians and Canadians.

The mist is clearing

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography, Pretentious nonsense7 Comments

Autumn mist

A picture paints… no forget it, you’re getting the 1000 words anyway.

A month after quitting my job, I find myself almost hysterically happy at not doing some of it. Or, if I’m striving for honesty, most of it. In fact apart from the bits with friends in pubs putting the world to rights, let’s remove the fence from our arse and declare “all of it“.

Four weeks in which riding of bicycles, seeing of family, London not going to, and affirming of what’s important has put me in a very happy place. Exhibit A was last night’s ride where a much-missed pal re-joined the nocturnal pack after a knee injury had him sidelined for six months. A little wet had fallen from the sky, leaves were plastered heavily over now slippy trails and the air was full of impending winter.

Absolutely the best ingredients for an organic exploration of the hills. Ride a bit, check Martin’s knee for potential explosion, ride a bit more, get chilly chilling out, modify routes, point out flaws in everyone elses, grumble on extra climbs, then head out into territory so cheeky it should get it’s bum smacked. Ride stupid loose, steep stuff and join grown men giggling at bullshit to the power of shared experience.

Rides like that tend to ramble on. I can feel a certain empathy there 😉 But 10pm had been and gone which generally alarms the misery gland with London not many hours away. Get home, sort bike and gear, assemble corporate stuff for the so-near morning call, shower, set alarm don’t sleep much. Today I woke refreshed three hours past that 4:50am start and God it felt good. Lazy but good.

Having mused on this during long dog walks and some strategic looking out of the window, clearly the only issue with this life-choice is simply that no-one will pay for you being a slacker. Which is how I have always viewed my approach to life. Honestly, where others saw hard work and dedication, I was internalising slights of hand, a stupidly good memory and the belief that everyone else was just a bit more shit. Really, my finest work would have been a treatise on “the importance of being idle” had not Oasis got there first.

It seems this may not be the case. Feelings of guilt shocked me into tense mutterings about what next. Suddenly every expense becomes an agony, best get the car serviced*, can’t let the kids watch TV all half term, really need a new front door – it has been pointed out to me that this is the way most people operate without a vastly inflated salary. And while we’re not exactly fiscally destitute, any environment reigning in bike spending for a whole month probably has some merit.

So it was back to the evil marketing shed for ideas around legal larceny. Riding bikes and writing nonsense seemed attractive until my old Pal Dave Barter explained that while taking a year off to complete a cycling route guide had been challenging, fulfilling and a fantastic life experience, it hadn’t actually made him very much money. And he’s far better at it than I am. So examining the few skills built up over *christ how much* 22 years of paid employment, it became clear the rut most travelled probably held the best prospect of paying the mortgage.

Half of those 22 years, I have worked for other people. Frankly, it’s not been an experience either of us has enjoyed. Jumping back into that was on the testicle slamming side of entirely delusional in terms of how it might be different. So I crossed that straight off. Not true actually, I never wrote it down in the first place.

So with Hobson and his uni-choice in the chair, working for myself appeared to be the only realistic option. Done it before, quite enjoyed it, rarely were security called to escort me from client site, people seemed on the satisfied side of invoice paying. And I have a certain passion for work which might sound pretty damn stupid when it’s just IT, but let me ask you this… if you spend 3/4 of your natural life spending every day doing something you don’t care about, how dumb is that?

If nothing else, my MacBook and iPhone become legitimate expenses. I have enough contacts and – apparently – credibility to ensure days will not be spent waiting for the phone to ring. And while London looms large in at least some of my working life, it’ll be on my dollar and for someone who’ll probably notice whether I’m there or not.

It’s not much of a plan, but it’s a start. And having just re-read my unpublished vitriol written the day I left, it’s not just a start but a step in the right direction.

Wish me luck, I’m going in.

*£250 only to be discover than “nothing to worry about” means “yeah it needs a new condenser and the brake pads are knackered, shall we just keep your credit card?“

Landrover List – Rule Clarification

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

I’ve been hawking the Landrover List to friends/respected colleagues of a certain age/total strangers. The response has been tremendous. Tremendous apathy mostly, but that’s the lifeblood of vanity publishing.

And while many stimulating and invigorating viewpoints have pressed their suit for list inclusion, the HVB* have held firm to their highly principled and entirely just criteria for acceptance. Or, in most case, rejection.

Ire has been drawn*** by the hardly relevant fact that these criteria have never been actually published, and -furthermore – appear to be made up on the spot. With “highly principled” merely a byphrase for “Get me another beer in, and I’ll see you right”

So in the spirit (if not exactly the actual letter) of fairness, let me elucidate on the guiding principals laid down by the HVB. Which coincidentally pretty much how they end up after a protracted discussion regarding exactly how manly naked Snakes and Ladders “using real snakes” actually is.

Attainability. For example, a suggestion for the list was “surviving a direct lightning strike“. Paused me for thought that idea, but I don’t want to encourage rushing outside in a storm waving iron bars into the face of nature’s plug socket. And manly as “come on you wimpy bastard, give it your best shock” may be, it’s hard to see how a pair of smoking shoes could really add to the list. Other than as a grubby footnote.

Gunfire. Nothing with projectile weapons. I know all men feel a certain frisson on firing off a big bore**** or going all Dirty Harry with the Electric Drill, but nothing with guns gets on the list. I am going to be quite firm about this. However I may be persuaded on edged weapons, bludgeoning maces, hallbuts or berserker trouts. A man facing off a difficult fish with nothing other than a stiff upper lip and an autobiography of Churchill may be onto something.

Sex. Conquests, that sort of thing. a) because if no one saw it, it didn’t happen and b) we’re looking for things that can be demonstrated to be properly manly in a public environment. Many years ago a friend of mine recalled an experience with a voluptuous lady and a Renault 4 that nearly made me sick by laughing. There is absolutely no justice in retelling, other than to explain the Valkyrie in question had – in a someone ironic twist – to screw off the gear knob before cramp set in.

Really nothing is going to compare to that. Let’s just move on eh.

Driving. All men believe they are the best driver in the world. Which is statistically troubling for a start, and equally unlikely. And while prowess may be shown “in the bends” or “away from the lights“, it’s not really manly behaviour is it? Unless you’re about 12 and a crumpled pullout of a Lamborghini Countach shares the bedroom wall with aposter of Kim Wilde.

There are exceptions – breaking down in the Australian outback next to a crocodile invested swamp with barely any water and eight whingy tourists would be one. Been there, disconnected the fridge to boost the emergency ariel, fought off hysterical Germans, – now something like that has potential. Going fast round corners? Not so much.

So I’ve a number of examples under consideration right now. Unsurprised I expect to find you when declaring 50{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2}+ are bike related. But it’s not too late to get your entry in. If you can be bothered.

Apathy rules. Well it would if it could be arsed.

* Hedgehog Voting Board**

** Me.

*** Or mostly crayoned. Fair to say many of my friends struggle a bit with the idea of a “brainstorm“. A light shower is about the most they can manage. Bless ’em.

**** Let’s just get this over with. No-one is impressed with you performing a “Cameo Move” on your crotch and declaring that you’re ready to unleash the big weapon. And while the pub talk may be of packing a rampant love sausage, your nearest and dearest will tell you – in a moment of brutal candour – it’s more of a friendly little chippolata. Not me of course, it’s you we’re talking about.

Marketing works. I feel dirty saying that.

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

One analyst predicted the death of the iPhone even before it was released*. Actually when you stop laughing that’s not so stupid when the market was flooded with many phones but little differentiation. The genius of the iPhone was that it didn’t copy, it didn’t even lead, – it just changed the game completely.

And that’s odd when you consider it is nowhere near perfect. Ask anyone their thoughts of the iPhone as say “a phone” and they’ll tell you it’s rubbish. They’ll point out other flaws as well – crap battery life, lock-in to Apple stuff, high cost, etc.” However, if you’ll offer to swap it for something has none of these issues expect wild eyed justifications, desperate pleading and offers of “Nooooo, take my daughter instead”

I don’t know how Apple did that and it seems neither does anyone else. First the iPhone stole the market and then the iPad created one. You cannot deny they wedgied the entire technology sector although they were more than helped by every other manufacturer. Product strategies were divided between slavish reproduction or getting all pious about OpenSource and wondering why no-one cared.

Or in HP’s case, spending billions on two operating systems and using neither, and Nokia – the undisputed market leader for years – dumping five years of development and jumping in bed with Windows 7. Now that’s a smart move what with Microsoft having sold about 11 phones so far.

A note here: watching Microsoft trying to be cool must be like my kids watching their dad trying to dance. At least I’m trying to be ironic. Not that they really care as they’ve run away by this time pretending to be orphans.

Apple have managed to create an experience that is so good, we all forget that this is exactly what IBM used to be slated for. Devices that don’t work with anything else. Having to buy everything from a single supplier. No choices other than stuff with an Apple logo on it. The difference is by opening up the App Store to developers and creating really neat in house products and software, we’re happy to be assimilated.

My friend James reckons buying your first Apple device creates a “bridgehead in your home” through which the entire product range swarms through. Not only that, it also instantly devalues all your other toys reducing them to door stops.

I’ve had that Mac for a couple of weeks week and it has insidiously wormed its way into my life. The PC seems to have become part server, part monitor mule, the horror of the Chisel IT is already fading, the tablet feels a bit “me too” and not in a good way. But fanboi status is not yet attained- my Android phone is really blameless here and has a part to play. it cost almost no money, runs lots of useful free apps, delivers e-mail, plays my music, and allows me to make and receive phone calls without the battery running out.

Which is clear and irrefutable evidence to why I’m going to buy an iPhone 4S. A phone that manages to be an expensive upgrade without actually upgrading anything. Aside from the Apple-Fanboi-Chip insert, my rationale for spending all that cash is because the Android phone won’t talk to the Mac. Well not nicely – they sort of electronically swear at each other before sulking and refusing to speak further despite my repeated urging.

So despite the rise of standards and apparent interoperability, we’re back to two or three brands dominating the landscape which don’t play nicely. Back in the 1990s, it wasn’t like that – the choices were endless and every technology manufacturer was trying hard to differentiate their products. It wasn’t always very good, but it was fun to watch.

Finally we’re back to bikes and metaphors. Go back even fifteen years and you couldn’t pedal for all the weird and wacky designs coming out of the bike shops. Funny suspension, flexible stems, white off-road tyres and elliptical chainrings. Th great thing about standards back in the day were there were so many to choose from. Most of them still measured in imperial units.

So your Trek Bicycle was an IBM PC; worthy, useful, a bit dull. The Singlespeed was a ringer for Apple. Hippy, niche, not very good at a lot of things, prized by those who owned one, laughed at by those that didn’t. Now Apple is the 29inch wheeled bike – everyone laughed at these as well but slowly they’ve become mainstream and changed the entire market when doing so.

I miss all those niches; now differentiation seems to be about wheel sizes and graphics. Consolidation of component manufacturers has upped quality but reduced choice. All the major manufacturers have bikes that work – and while there is still inter-brand hatred and myopia, it’s not really based on the actual riding experience.

Computers then; nobody thinks of them as computers any more. Just places where your apps live. And bikes cease to be about how they’re designed but more about the things they let you do. This is probably a good thing. It just doesn’t feel like it.

* The same man who – on being shown the Apple LISA – informed Steve Jobs that “no one would buy a computer with a Mouse“. And the bloke still has a job, Amazing.

Apple in your eye.

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography6 Comments

Technology Overload
[I wrote this before the untimely death of Steve Jobs. For once I was ahead of the game. It’ll not happen again]

Computers, you see, they are like bikes. A tenuous link you may think. Typical delusion from a man who considers world events through the prism of “how will this affect my riding of a bicycle“.

And while I may be King of the Tortured Metaphor*, there is a little more to this than “they both have metal bits in them“. That ^^ picture is painting a thousand words which include “Mac, Windows PC, Android Tablet, Kindle, Android Phone, iChisel(tm) Phone**” and “Why?”

Soon an explaination. First tho, a little history. I’m of such ancient stock that hazy memories remain of the first “computer showrooms“. Airy Galleries filled with back-lit technical magic – a silicon soup of diversity with survival of the fastest at its core.

Anarchy of design ruled; of chipsets, operating systems, programming languages and even physical form. Tiny units like the Oric-1 running Prologue, sprite based gamers including the VIC-20 and the Dragon 32. The first “luggable” sized similar to a suitcase with a 4inch screen. The Osborne-1 was very brave and way ahead of its’ time. Which easily explains why there was no Osborne-2.

And within these niches and crossovers stood three machines stamped with the desirable tag. The ZX Spectrum, the BBC Micro and the Apple II. For those of a certain age, the ZX-81 with its wobbly ram pack and tape drive marked the first age of personal computing. It’s successor with a keyboard that acutally moved then created the first computing Jihad.

If you were a “Speccy” you couldn’t be a BBC’r. Fights would break out over perceived slights and feature inflation. “Pah Basic, that’s not a proper language, and your processor is shit, and you’ve got no graphics memory and yes, actually, I DO ENJOY typing in nine pages of 101101 mnemomics and NO I don’t mind if the box overheats and explodes before I can save it”

They were rubbish fights of course, geeks being of the pipe cleaner physicue and NHS glasses genome, but there passion could not be questioned. Logic, Yes. Obsession, Very Probably. Inability to relate to anyone without a working knowledge of the Z80 processor, a sign of autism I’d accept.

The Apple II was something else with TWO 90k disk drives which seemed profligate in the extreme. What could possibly fill a vast storage system that today would encode nearly 4 seconds of an MP3 track. In marketing unrecognisable to Apple today, it was a bit confused – caught between business computer and personal plaything. Furthermore, it was boxy, expensive and lacked the coolness of other brands. Yes, this is Apple we are talking about.

This was back in the days when the extent of pervasive technology was the video recorder. If the geeks were to inherit the world, it’d take a while for anyone to notice – hunched up as they were over sweaty keyboards waiting for someone to take them seriously.

And in a move never repeated, someone did. IBM launched the Personal Computer to a sceptical audience and sold millions. And having cornered the market in hardware, they made the terrible mistake of believing PCs were like Mainframes with the mantra that“nobody got fired for buying IBM“. They didn’t need to, IBM fired themselves.

By licensing the hardware and giving up on the software, they not only backed the wrong horse, they knobbled it, fed it a sleeping pill before taking it out and shooting it in a mercy killing. A decision analogous to the record exec explaining “no one is interested in guitar music anymore” before dismissing the beatles from his presence.

So everyone was landed with a PC on their desk and more than a few bought one for home. Apple discovered its coolness with the iMac but for every one sold, Microsoft shipped 999 copies of windows on generic PC hardware.

Deciding that being cool and broke wasn’t a business model, Apple finally wised up and dumped their propriatory chipsets which pissed off their oh-so-hipster fanboi’s, but cheered the shareholders. Even so, the market saw PCs as safe, boring and for business while the Mac was fine for designers and publishers, but it’s not a real computer eh?

Then came the iPhone and everything changed. More of that next time, there’s only so much geekery even a man so steeped in the information age can take.

* or possibly “first amongst equals” or “Hedgmonically Priviledged” or even “Guardian of the Idea Pool“. Metaphors you see, it’s like verbal colouring in for people who aren’t allowed crayons.

** Picture taken after iSlate returned to IT department in flat trajectory by man dancing an embarrassing jig while shouting “HAH RING NOW, GO ON THAT CALL YOU RECEIVED ABOUT AN HOUR AGO, I DON’T CARE”. Forgot to include the Kindle in the pic as well. Maybe we could start a “spot the device” competition where I’d hand out re-cycled Palm Treo to the lucky winner.