Restoring the Synapses to Their Natural State

Right now, I would have thought my email inbox would be overflowing with complaints that I have yet to post the next part of my draft novel. This could be a severe case of gremlins munching their way through BT servers, possibly that there is a shortage of dried frog pills to sustain my loyal readers, or maybe that some people have yet to discover Part One.

Rest assured, I will be treating the world to the next instalment soon. Unfortunately, today I am in the mood to indulge myself by posting a few synaptic rambles.

The problem is that I got myself stuck on my soapbox about my ideas for ethical business taxation which led me to the UK Government’s Freedom initiative and the associated website. The good news is that I posted my ideas as an entry on that site (See Note 1). The bad news is that it has sparked all kinds of random synaptic activity and visits to strange websites in dingy corners of the interweb.

While I work tirelessly on this service for the community, my son and daughter (See Note 2) both watch The Sooty Show.

Before the election campaign started, I posted a blog about the need for hope and confidence. It is probably an indication about my inability to detect much hope seeping into the British psyche, that when the YourFreedom site initiative came along, I rushed into it almost as fast as a peckish Tory Cabinet Minister to the Murano (See Note 3).

You might not realise it from reading my ramblings here, but I am basically an optimist. It is just that experience has taught me that a healthy helping of cynicism and a warped sense of humour is required to counterbalance this (See Note 4).

My early experience with the site was not a particularly happy one. It was slow, rather bug ridden and lacked most of the features that I would expect to make it ‘user friendly’ (See Note 5) and supportive of a consultation and debate. The developers (See Note 6) had obviously not bothered to cast a glance at the concepts behind a wiki when throwing together the design. Such was the disappointment; it caused me to go into a state of mourning. As with every major disaster or national sorrow, I was so devastated, I felt the need to develop a conspiracy theory.

Still, with the persistence of the lingering odour of a kipper stuck behind a kitchen cupboard, I persevered and presented my idea to the population of the UK.

I waited. For some reason, probably software faults on the site, the population were not experiencing cartoon lightbulbs appearing over their heads. My entry wasn’t making headlines in the national press. Sian Williams wasn’t emailing me about joining her on the breakfast TV sofa (See Note 7).

Soon it was obvious, I needed to kill some time. I realised that wheels of government turn slowly. That the phone call from a senior civil servant, inviting me to present the idea to the UK cabinet might be a way off. So I decided to read some of the other offerings and offer up my views and the benefit of my wisdom.

Oh God, I wish I hadn’t. I could have just amused myself with humerous videos. The offerings on the site caused me to weep and hyper-ventilate in turn. What really depressed my and had me searching for the nearest user for a lend of his syringe (See Note 5), were the offerings from numerous small business owners.

Politicians tell us that the future of the economy is in the hands of small businesses.  If that is the case, then we are in real trouble. Those on the site seemed to have a very strange idea as to what their responsibilities as business owners  and (assumed) members of the human race actually were. Most made the Daily Mail seem like the Socialist Worker.

Thankfully, I am over that now. My daughter took a break from watching vintage children’s TV and pointed me to this wonderful, acerbic, YourFreedumb  blog. Having read it, I feel a lot better. My sense of optimism remains a touch dented, but thankfully, my cynicism and sense of humour are replenished.

My only regret being that I didn’t think of it first. Still, no matter, tonight I am off to a talk by Terry Jones on Medieval Lives – that should get the old synapses back into order.

Note 1: For all of you who have yet to see my entry on the YourFreedom site, post a wonderfully supportive comment and give it a high mark, be warned. There will be a test on the subject later and failure to obtain a pass will result in you being given detention and being deprived of chocolate for a month.

Note 2: For those who did not know, both my children are in their 20s. It is highly unlikely that I will be called upon to provide parenting courses.

Note 3: Yes, that’s right, £60 for three courses and I bet they don’t serve a decent pint of mild or provide bottles of ketchup and brown sauce on the table. Although Gordon Effin Ramsey would like to treat me to the full works, I promise I’ll write him a spiffing review on this very blog.

Note 4: So far, this mixture of raw optimism and my natural, exuberant flair combined with cynicism and an ability to laugh at the ridiculous has kept me out of the reach of men with large butterfly nets and avoided residency in a rubber room. The dried frog pills help too.

Note 5: Yes, I know that I am on record as hating the term ‘user’ when applied to computers. The term still makes me wince and brings images of a man without hope thrusting a syringe in their arm in the mistaken belief that it will provide a chemical induced salvation.

Note 6: I hope that none of my Merkin readership are giggling at the back there? You really shouldn’t be sitting smugly with the idea that such poorly implemented e-government initiatives are unique to us Brits. The company behind this, Delib, are also working with the US administration on  ‘crowd sourcing’ apps for among others, the Department of Homeland Security – not feeling so secure now, eh?

Note 7: Although I know now this is due to those gremlins hidden in the BT servers feasting upon my emails.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon

Well, my pertinacious yeomen, my little experiment yesterday with the video proved less than perfect. It seems that the sound quality on the video was not of professional quality.

Stung by the comments, I have spent the morning tinkering with the computer. I have upgraded my display drivers (see Note 1), downloaded the latest versions of the webcam software and generally tinkered and tweaked since I first surfaced from my pit.

So far, success has been found to be, errr... limited. I can make the microphone pick up my dulcet tones better, but only if I turn all the settings up to full. To be honest, I was starting to get a little frustrated with the lack of progress, something that just shouldn’t happen today

Deciding that there must be something better to do on an easy Sunday morning and struggling for a topic to write about, I went  out into the street and took a couple of pictures of flowers in the sunshine.

Strange how just walking away from a problem frees up the brain. By this, I don’t mean that I have solved my little microphone issue, just that in finding that little link up there and listening to it has got me to unwind a touch and start to follow a few links on You Tube.  Yes, I know, I am really cheating here, just sitting here, slowly, softly getting so laid back and relaxed, typing a few words and throwing in a link to another music video.

Had I continued, I would have been so laid back I was in danger of grazing the back of my head and you would have a music list that would last you until Wednesday, but that last one set up an echo.  Try as I might, there was a troublesome synapse that just wasn’t prepared to be a wimp. It was becoming an albatross around my neck, it was determined to stop me dreaming (see Note 2).

All I wanted was a touch of entertainment and here was a troublesome synapse holding out to keep me in a spin (See Note 3). It was a constant fight for me as the rogue thought kept blinding me to my quest.

In the end I knew it was a lost cause. The trap was tripped. The rogue synapse was determined to dictate the words from my mouth.

I’m not going to admit total defeat though. I’ll not spend time looking for a way to make a long and complicated ‘connections’ blog.

You see, there are times when you wonder just what on earth our government is playing at. They are now trying to make us all ‘healthy’. They are worried that we are drinking too much, so they want to make alcohol more expensive. A strange measure that seems to suggest that the drinking of alcohol is only a problem for the poor as it is they that will find pay the greatest proportion of their income to enjoy a drink while those who manufacture the demon drink will benefit from the higher prices. Odd.

There is also a body of opinion out there who want to tax chocolate in order that we will all forgo that particular pleasure and buy broccoli instead. Mind you, this could be just a ploy to stop the new film of Marianne Faithfull’s life story.

Note 1 : Yes, I realise that the display drivers have nothing to do with the microphone, but I noticed that on some occasions, when I was using the webcam the screen seemed to start to lose the odd pixel and look grainy.

Note 2 : It was a toss up between that one and this one. I hope I made the right choice.

Note 3 : You know what, just having one from these guys is not enough, you’ve made me so very happy.

 

I've Got the Electrical Rodent Blues

For those of you who don't know and have the slightest interest, I work with computers. This means that I come into contact with lots of other people who work with computers. I eat lunch with lots of people who work in computers.

If you ever wonder what people who work in computers talk about when we are eating lunch, I can let you into the secret. We tend to talk about computers.

There you go then my puissant yeomen, part of the stereotype has been confirmed for you. I can also confirm that I work with men who have pony tails, wear sandals with socks and believe their knees should be displayed at all times. Don't take this to confirm the stereotype 100%. It might come as a shock, but they are also married and have made a contribution to the gene pool.

One topic of conversation of which we never tire is that of how we will interact with the computers of the future. These range from 2 minute chats at the coffee machine (another stereotype confirmed) to full five day conferences in exotic locations (see Note 1).

I'm old enough to have worked on computers where the only way you interacted with them was to feed in reels of paper tape, stacks of cards or hammer away with two fingers at a teletype. I can remember the first screen and keyboard arriving, shaking my head and tutting that it will never catch on and yes, I did the same when the PC and the computer mouse was wheeled through the door.

Now computers are everywhere (see Note 2). What is more we can use them anywhere and stay in touch with the interweb and our favourite applications almost everywhere we go.

Us computer people marvel at the technology that comes with our iPhones and our Wii's, talk about them a lot, then go and sit in front of our PC, fondle our mouse and then start hammering away at our keyboards as if they are teletypes.

Now that's the thing. What will replace the keyboard and the mouse? Touch screens? Brain implants? Armies of giant ants? We really don't know, but that doesn't stop us talking about it.

Then today, one of my colleagues sent my this link to a short film by Bruce Branit. I know nothing about Bruce and cannot provide any other information except the link to the film.

You really must find ten minutes of your life to watch this.

And, to confirm another stereotype, us computer bods spent our time discussing the holographic alarm clock.

Note 1 : Where another stereotype is sadly confirmed. When faced with the lure of talking about computers in a stuffy conference hall or sampling the temptations of an exotic location, the computer guys go for the stuffy conference hall every time.

Note 2 : My mobile phone has more processing power, memory and storage than the first computer I worked on and that computer filled a whole room while the air conditioning for it filled another. My mobile phone doesn't.

Guiding me to the Forest Path

On a Sunday lunchtime, a group of us get together in the 'Rat & Ferret' to enjoy a couple of pints of Dr Ethaniel Nightswerve's Velvet Cudgel and generally socialise. Topics of conversation are wide ranging and eclectic.

There are the common themes like our discussions on Evar's latest attempt at inclusion in the record books, postulations on the miracles of engineering that must constitute the barmaid's undergarments and the prospects of Oundelian Wanderers qualifying for European football. The latter topic we discuss with much head shaking and tutting now that the Oundelian star striker, Stan 'Twinkletoes' Ferchop has been injured in a freak pedicure accident.

As the level of the ale lowers in our glass, the conversation diversifies and starts to meander through life's little mysteries. (See Note 1).

On Sunday, the conversation had somehow found its way to the subject of teachers. As I recounted a memory of one particular teacher, I suddenly found Bertram Willder at my elbow and thrusting his card into my hand.

Trust me, you do not want to have a person like Willder at your elbow. He is one of those people who seems to be able enter a room without opening a door, so the shock caused me to spill a few drops of the Velvet Cudgel on my sweater. (see Note 2).

I looked at the card. For that particular event, Willder was operating as ‘B. Willder’, solicitor and partner in ‘Everyone’s a Winner’ law practice franchise.

Willder looked genuinely shocked as I declined the offer and started to start on his well rehearsed sales pitch. (see Note 3). However, when I made to tip some of the Vevet Cudgel on his sharp suit, he backed off. Muttering under his breath, he slithered away to pester another regular with an opportunity to invest in a steam powered toothbrush company.

You see, my setaceous yeomen, I am not a litigious soul. Besides, the subject of my anecdote, my ‘careers’ teacher, is protected by the simple fact that I cannot remember his name.

I can picture him well enough, the crop of unruly sandy hair, the patchy moustache that sat unevenly under his bulbous red nose. I can see him sat opposite me, eyes desperately trying to focus, the vein on his temple throbbing gently as he tried to control his natural aversion to teenage boys.

He wasn’t a dedicated careers teacher. His main subject was maths. It was generally accepted that the reason was that he became careers master was because he was the last to find an excuse when the headmaster asked for volunteers. His unfortunate and ironic assignment as the teacher to set young people onto the ideal career path was probably due to his need for constant nips from a bottle of Johnny Walker whenever faced by pupils.

The method for helping us making the career choices was ‘computer aided’. We were given a questionnaire with a number of questions. You answered the questions on a card which were collected and sent away to be processed by a huge computer.

It was the early days of computing.

Some weeks later the results came back and you were scheduled a meeting with the careers teacher.

I went in with an air of expectation only to be knocked sideways by stale whisky fumes. I recovered, sat down and waited for teacher to focus on me. He put the bottle, badly disguised as a brown paper bag in a drawer. At the third attempt, he grabbed a sheet of paper and thrust it my approximate direction.

“Forest Ranger.” He slurred.

“Eh?” was my response. “I have a tree pollen allergy.”

He shook his head, grabbing the desk for support as he did so. A short monologue ensued in which he evangelised on the infallibility of the modern computer before drawing the consultation to a close with a bellowed “Next!” (see Note 4)

My career as a Forest Ranger was short lived. For a start there were a lot of us Forest Rangers roaming the Wiltshire countryside trying to herd trees into a forest. For those of you who have ever tried to herd trees, you will know how difficult it is. The task was made all the more difficult by there being more Forest Rangers than actual trees, so hardly a day went by without some squabble breaking out over a copse. In the end, they decided that perhaps we would be better employed elsewhere and they made me work in an office, doing menial and repetitive tasks while being ordered about by a man in a shiny polyester suit.

I didn’t last at that either. Perhaps, I was a bit harsh on that poor careers teacher. After all, I did end up working with computers. Maybe his monologue on the infallibility of computers did have an impact on me after all. Mind you, I just wish that somebody told me that if you really wanted to make money, live in a huge mansion and always have a pretty girl on your arm, you should set up your own international porn empire.

Note 1 : It widely accepted that on Padstow's birthday, when the drink had been flowing particularly freely we had actually managed to solve the riddle of the meaning of life. Sadly, none of us thought to write it down and the answer was lost amongst the resulting hangovers.

Note 2 : Which is a real shame. I liked that sweater. Now, instead of the happy faces of those chirpy Disney characters, Chip and Dale, exalting the world to smile on the front, it is now a mass of holes. It looks like it has been the victim of a swarm of moths on acid.

Note 3 : A sales pitch that apparently swayed Stan ‘Twinkletoes’ Ferchop, who has not thought this through. While he did undoubtedly stagger away from the pedicure, the circumstances are likely to cause a media frenzy that could cause him to lose his lucrative endorsement from Borthwicks, the family horse liniment supplier to the stars. Just what he was doing in an unlicensed foot parlour in Soho on the eve of the game against Aston Villa is going to be hard to explain. However, it is the fact that the pedicure was being administered by a naked girl smeared in boiled rhubarb that will probably lose him the sympathy of the court.

Note 4 : It transpired later that using the logic of the infallibility of computers, 60% of school leavers that year were destined to be Forest Rangers. 20% were going to were going to be bankers and bring the world economy to its knees and 18% were going to be car mechanics. The other 2% were going to have a long and happy career on the stage as drag queens.