I don't have an iPhone.
Don't get me wrong. I am not a technophobe. I do have a smart phone. Well, it was smart. 5 Years ago. But now it is just annoying. It lives permanently in the past and drives me up the wall trying to regain its erstwhile stature.
Take, for example, it's predilection for reminding me to do things. Not only does it wait until I am the opposite side of the house to it, but in the unlikely event I reach it before it stops chiming at me, it offers me the chance to 'stop' or 'snooze'. Of course it knows that if I just 'stop' it I will instantly forget what it was reminding me to do. So I 'snooze' it and that's that. No option for how long would I like to postpone my reminder, just 'snooze'. And then it waits. Until I am once more at the furthest point possible from the phone, or just submerged in a relaxing hot bath, or driving off somewhere with the wretched device zipped up in a bag in the boot!
The repetitive tone is designed to drive the most relaxed of human beings insane. It torments me. It berates me for having set the reminder in the first place. It knows my weaknesses and plays on them to the full.
I have built in blue tooth in the car which is great for voice activated calls on the move. But. When it decides to nag me about some stupid task like 'feed the fish' the mind-destroying chiming shouts out over the radio speakers and there's nothing I can do to stop it. On and on and on for a whole minute. And when it stops all I can think of is that in 5 minutes time it will start up again. Invariably this happens when I'm on the motorway and can't pull in to cancel it. Or perhaps I've only just managed to pass the tractor driver who seems to think that rush hour is the perfect time to trundle between the two furthest fields on his farm apparently forgetting that he's driving a tractor and could quite easily drive through the field! Anyway, nothing is going to make me stop now to grab the bag from the boot even if it is to smash the darned phone into submission!
And what am I supposed to do about feeding the fish when I'm 20 miles away anyway?
I don't have an iPhone. Yet.
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Sunday, 23 May 2010
An uninteresting non-story
Dear Reader
I was all set to email you first and say to ignore my previous e-mail as I'd already changed my mind! And I said don't expect me, and you had to beat me to it and say you'll be expecting me. And I'm tired too as I woke at 4 this morning and stayed awake. And I miscalculated the number of shirts I'd need so I'm already recycling. I know, I could go out and buy a shirt at lunchtime. What to do? I'll think about it again later...
For now I thought I'd just write something but there are no new interesting stories. In that case, how about I bore you with an uninteresting story and you can tell me how far you get through it before you fall asleep.
Maybe I'll even send myself to sleep before I finish.
I began to be aware of greying skies during the afternoon and, knowing that I had failed to locate my waterproof jacket before leaving home at the beginning of the week, the number of glances out of window increased steadily until I decided it would be prudent to amend my earlier plans, which consisted of an initial walk up the steep part of the hill to the Boot Public House on the ridge of the Chilterns for an anticipated welcoming supper and a few jars followed by a dog-leg obliquely back down the hill via a number of intricately interconnected paths, to a foreshortened trek directly to the farm along the footpath I had already travelled in the other direction that morning. I had a torch with me but the thought of the added hindrance of rain made the prospect of navigating the unknown a little less desirable on balance than the anticipation of a good meal on route could offset.
So I hastily prepared a meal of toast and polony sausage, for it seemed that, having decided to go straight back to the farm, there was no advantage in delaying the expedition. Finally prepared with a hot cup of coffee, a change into my walking clothes (less the waterproof) and careful arrangement of my possessions in the backpack, I set off up the road towards the start of the footpath. It wasn't as dark as I had expected once I was outside so I made good progress. Walking alongside the hedge at the edge of a field of stubble after the harvest I passed wild snapdragons and poppies defying the apparent barren surroundings with their sudden points of colour and as I walked I left the road behind. What little traffic noise there had been faded and the sound of my shoes scything through the stubble mingled with the gentle hush of the wind in my ears. After a few styles I landed in a dusty field with no visible flora, the path teetering over a maze of half collapsed tunnels. Rabbits I guessed, as I had seen a number in this spot early that morning, though they hadn't looked happy animals, not unfortunately due to the state of their housing but apparently due to their health. One particularly forlorn creature with most of the top part of it's head hairless and misshapen had sat chewing with painful jerky movements as I walked up, its blind eyes unaware of my presence, probably not even able to hear me, or just not caring.
Are you still awake?
I picked my way over the ruined warrens and into another field. This was set to rough pasture presumably as there was nothing else could be done on such a slope, and had been occupied by a pair of horses who had interrupted their breakfast to stare pointedly at me, as if I was a stranger daring to enter the locals bar at a remote hostelry. The climb that faced me up this now deserted establishment was not what I remembered from the outward trip as, not surprisingly an easy downward jaunt has less reason to attract the attention. I have to admit that I had to pause half way to find my breath. Once at the top I walked through a mumbling clique of bungalows before entering the wood that led back down the other side to the farm. Instantly I was plunged into darkness as the trees joined above me. I switched on the torch and the beam highlighted a narrow path of loose earth and flint, which seemed to curve up at the sides to meet the trees curving down. Part of the effect was due to the narrow beam of light and I had to swing the torch from side to side to accurately place the true route of the track. Soon I was aware of another source of light and the approaching clatter of a tractor dragging some kind of plough. The closely set headlamps peered out of the darkness only succeeding in illuminating the cloud of dust rolling along with the vehicle. The tractor fell into pace a little ahead of me and I was not a little annoyed to have my peaceful journey spoiled by the coarse clattering. When suddenly the path left the wood and a small clearing interrupted the track before it descended the last fifty yards to the farm, the tractor veered across in front of me and stopped. I paused, expecting the driver to either go on past or reverse into a turn ready for the next strip to plough. But he didn't seem in a hurry to do either. Whether he had seen my feeble light trailing him as we descended through the wood and was curious as to my business, or had no idea I was there, I don't know. But I wasn't going to stand there like a stunned rabbit mesmerized by the vehicles lights. I had to actually step around the front wheels of the tractor to get by and as I did so, and was lit up by the headlamps, the idling engine was suddenly pushed into life. I did actually jump with surprise and half stumbled, half ran across in front of the machine and darted quickly onto the path again the other side. I didn't stop to pass the time of day for as I looked up into the cab, there was nobody there.
I ran full pelt down the last stretch of path straight into the courtyard and the welcoming lights of my temporary home. Reality twisted by perception maybe, but at least my brain had made some effort to provide me with a touch of interest to my day.
I still haven't decided if I shall see you and the others this evening. I don't imagine I'll be able to talk about diseased rabbits or phantom tractors.
For now,
Timbo
I was all set to email you first and say to ignore my previous e-mail as I'd already changed my mind! And I said don't expect me, and you had to beat me to it and say you'll be expecting me. And I'm tired too as I woke at 4 this morning and stayed awake. And I miscalculated the number of shirts I'd need so I'm already recycling. I know, I could go out and buy a shirt at lunchtime. What to do? I'll think about it again later...
For now I thought I'd just write something but there are no new interesting stories. In that case, how about I bore you with an uninteresting story and you can tell me how far you get through it before you fall asleep.
Maybe I'll even send myself to sleep before I finish.
I began to be aware of greying skies during the afternoon and, knowing that I had failed to locate my waterproof jacket before leaving home at the beginning of the week, the number of glances out of window increased steadily until I decided it would be prudent to amend my earlier plans, which consisted of an initial walk up the steep part of the hill to the Boot Public House on the ridge of the Chilterns for an anticipated welcoming supper and a few jars followed by a dog-leg obliquely back down the hill via a number of intricately interconnected paths, to a foreshortened trek directly to the farm along the footpath I had already travelled in the other direction that morning. I had a torch with me but the thought of the added hindrance of rain made the prospect of navigating the unknown a little less desirable on balance than the anticipation of a good meal on route could offset.
So I hastily prepared a meal of toast and polony sausage, for it seemed that, having decided to go straight back to the farm, there was no advantage in delaying the expedition. Finally prepared with a hot cup of coffee, a change into my walking clothes (less the waterproof) and careful arrangement of my possessions in the backpack, I set off up the road towards the start of the footpath. It wasn't as dark as I had expected once I was outside so I made good progress. Walking alongside the hedge at the edge of a field of stubble after the harvest I passed wild snapdragons and poppies defying the apparent barren surroundings with their sudden points of colour and as I walked I left the road behind. What little traffic noise there had been faded and the sound of my shoes scything through the stubble mingled with the gentle hush of the wind in my ears. After a few styles I landed in a dusty field with no visible flora, the path teetering over a maze of half collapsed tunnels. Rabbits I guessed, as I had seen a number in this spot early that morning, though they hadn't looked happy animals, not unfortunately due to the state of their housing but apparently due to their health. One particularly forlorn creature with most of the top part of it's head hairless and misshapen had sat chewing with painful jerky movements as I walked up, its blind eyes unaware of my presence, probably not even able to hear me, or just not caring.
Are you still awake?
I picked my way over the ruined warrens and into another field. This was set to rough pasture presumably as there was nothing else could be done on such a slope, and had been occupied by a pair of horses who had interrupted their breakfast to stare pointedly at me, as if I was a stranger daring to enter the locals bar at a remote hostelry. The climb that faced me up this now deserted establishment was not what I remembered from the outward trip as, not surprisingly an easy downward jaunt has less reason to attract the attention. I have to admit that I had to pause half way to find my breath. Once at the top I walked through a mumbling clique of bungalows before entering the wood that led back down the other side to the farm. Instantly I was plunged into darkness as the trees joined above me. I switched on the torch and the beam highlighted a narrow path of loose earth and flint, which seemed to curve up at the sides to meet the trees curving down. Part of the effect was due to the narrow beam of light and I had to swing the torch from side to side to accurately place the true route of the track. Soon I was aware of another source of light and the approaching clatter of a tractor dragging some kind of plough. The closely set headlamps peered out of the darkness only succeeding in illuminating the cloud of dust rolling along with the vehicle. The tractor fell into pace a little ahead of me and I was not a little annoyed to have my peaceful journey spoiled by the coarse clattering. When suddenly the path left the wood and a small clearing interrupted the track before it descended the last fifty yards to the farm, the tractor veered across in front of me and stopped. I paused, expecting the driver to either go on past or reverse into a turn ready for the next strip to plough. But he didn't seem in a hurry to do either. Whether he had seen my feeble light trailing him as we descended through the wood and was curious as to my business, or had no idea I was there, I don't know. But I wasn't going to stand there like a stunned rabbit mesmerized by the vehicles lights. I had to actually step around the front wheels of the tractor to get by and as I did so, and was lit up by the headlamps, the idling engine was suddenly pushed into life. I did actually jump with surprise and half stumbled, half ran across in front of the machine and darted quickly onto the path again the other side. I didn't stop to pass the time of day for as I looked up into the cab, there was nobody there.
I ran full pelt down the last stretch of path straight into the courtyard and the welcoming lights of my temporary home. Reality twisted by perception maybe, but at least my brain had made some effort to provide me with a touch of interest to my day.
I still haven't decided if I shall see you and the others this evening. I don't imagine I'll be able to talk about diseased rabbits or phantom tractors.
For now,
Timbo
Friday, 11 September 2009
Frustration at the Office
I must leave this desk for a while. As the commuter leaves the bossy confinement of the metropoline skyscraper in search of comforting verdant pastures, so I head for the lure of the coffee shop. The arguments irritating behind me like the scorching heat bounced off unforgiving facades, the sticky residue of futility. Against this I curl my wings and close my eyes, as a bat I fly, through the baffling avenues or corridors until there is nothing to sense but freedom, and a large latte.
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Single Spies, New Victoria Theatre, Woking - a review
So I went to the theatre.
Alan Bennett. Hmmm, well my limited familiarity of his works led me to believe that anything which didn't involve a solo performance of misery by Thora Hird might actually be interesting. Not so.
There were two plays. About spies (apparently). The first one ended when the curtain went down. I can't think of anything more concrete to say about it than that. There was an actress who met Guy Burgess (famous spy) behind the iron curtain when he threw up in her dressing room. And she came home to buy him some pyjamas. Apparently he dies some time later.
The second play was about a bloke (who may possibly have been another old spy) who apparently knew something about art and suspected one of the queen's paintings was a forgery. Much of the play revolved around dialogue with the queen on this matter. Although obviously a metaphor for the covert work of espionage I found this as entertaining as examining the inside of my eyelids.
I was awoken by a jab in the ribs as my wife jerked with laughter. Feeling somewhat inadequate compared with her obvious empathy with the Bennett literary machinations, I was greatly relieved to discover her mirth was entirely devoted to my erstwhile snoring.
There were some memorable moments - I am told the ice cream was nice. And my three large glasses of cabernet-sauvignon-merlot-shiraz-malbec went down particularly well. Oh yes, the play or plays were called 'Single Spies'. And the theatre exit signs were overpowering and gave the whole place an eery green glow which made the audience look like zombies.
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