The glittering white
Makes quite a sight
When sitting on the floor
The great black mark
In such an arc
Encouraging to do more
The soft brown
Go up and down
Around across and more
From lighting bloom
Across the room
And over bedroom door
From soft pale blues
To bolder hues
Spread over toys and cloth
Mommy quips
Hands on hip
‘Thank goodness wax crayon washes off!’
Friday 16 September 2011
Wednesday 27 July 2011
Infinitum Nihil
I have sat by my computer for the last few days with the urge to blog, but as nothing noteworthy has happened to me for a few weeks, my mind was a blank as to what to write about. However, I didn't want to leave it any longer than it already has been before I blogged again so......
Sunday 3 July 2011
Ignorance is bliss...
‘Ignore it’. ‘Ignore it he says!’ I mumbled and grumbled to myself as I clattered the little one’s pushchair angrily along, careering left and right as I navigated the wheeliebin slalom that once a week befalls the estate near where my mother lives. How in the name of all that keeps me sane am I meant to ignore it? I could already feel the tingling sensation of the tender spots on my scalp where handfuls of hair had been gripped and pulled in a fit of desperate despair at the mere mention of it.
The wheels of the little one’s current mode of transportation swiveled for the umpteenth time that morning as I swerved to avoid yet another grey, plastic menace that graced the public walkway with it’s presence. ‘I mean’...I continued to rant on under my breath with onlookers and passers by giving me a much wider berth than I felt strictly necessary, or fair.
Little one shifted in her seat in order to make herself more comfortable as her pushchair rattled on over the loose gravel as I stamped up my mom’s driveway. ‘Honestly, the man’s mad! It’s ludicrous to even suggest that anyone could ignore it!’ I rubbed the sore, hairless patches of bare scalp as I choked back tears. I hadn’t slept now for two nights, my fingernails had all but gone. I rubbed frantically at my eyes, dammit, each eyeball felt as though someone had come along in the night, popped it out, rinsed it in vinegar, sanded it down, boiled it in brine for 25 minutes, turned it inside out and popped it back in again.
On reaching my mother’s door I proceeded to hammer forcibly upon it in the hopes of attracting the desired attention and gain admission.
‘Hello dar…..’
I screamed the words before I actually thought them, I felt them scrambling up my throat, scratching frantically at my mouth in order to be released. I stared into my mother’s eyes hoping to find solace and sanctuary...
‘LOTTIE HAS STARTED GRINDING HER TEETH!’
The wheels of the little one’s current mode of transportation swiveled for the umpteenth time that morning as I swerved to avoid yet another grey, plastic menace that graced the public walkway with it’s presence. ‘I mean’...I continued to rant on under my breath with onlookers and passers by giving me a much wider berth than I felt strictly necessary, or fair.
Little one shifted in her seat in order to make herself more comfortable as her pushchair rattled on over the loose gravel as I stamped up my mom’s driveway. ‘Honestly, the man’s mad! It’s ludicrous to even suggest that anyone could ignore it!’ I rubbed the sore, hairless patches of bare scalp as I choked back tears. I hadn’t slept now for two nights, my fingernails had all but gone. I rubbed frantically at my eyes, dammit, each eyeball felt as though someone had come along in the night, popped it out, rinsed it in vinegar, sanded it down, boiled it in brine for 25 minutes, turned it inside out and popped it back in again.
On reaching my mother’s door I proceeded to hammer forcibly upon it in the hopes of attracting the desired attention and gain admission.
‘Hello dar…..’
I screamed the words before I actually thought them, I felt them scrambling up my throat, scratching frantically at my mouth in order to be released. I stared into my mother’s eyes hoping to find solace and sanctuary...
‘LOTTIE HAS STARTED GRINDING HER TEETH!’
Wednesday 29 June 2011
Illuminataholics Anonymous
For years now we have known about my mom’s little ‘problem’. Trying different treatments to help her battle her addiction: Hiding her purse, walking her through displays, showing her the effects her condition is having upon her personal life, strong words, endless discussions about it. We have even considered counseling, but to no avail. My mother cannot walk past a lighting shop, lighting department or even someone’s front window without looking, buying or talking about lamps.
Each Christmas, new shades must be bought and tried, each lamp must be moved around different locations throughout the house in order to find the most suitable spot for it’s qualities. Each spring, lampshades must be exchanged and moved around and placed onto different bases to see their overall effect upon the dynamics of the room. It seems that every spare penny obtained seems to go on buying lamps and lamp shades. She is, in a word obsessed. Each time the room is moved around she makes an excuse to go and buy another lamp or two to fill in the gaps that the reorganisation of tables has left.
I have been warned that this condition is highly contagious and that, if enough time is spent around the afflicted, the addiction can ‘rub off’ as it were.
On a completely different note, we moved our living room round on Monday in order to fit the little one’s playpen in a suitable position that she can’t reach anything that she shouldn’t, we can walk around the room easily and we can see her from all angles. This left a sizable lighting gap, and realising that I no longer found my current illumination solutions attractive, I instigated a trip to find the perfect lamp to fill the gap. Once I had purchased my new floor lamp with matching shade, I noticed that the light shade in the living room didn’t match my selection, therefore I would need to change it. And while I was at it, the bedroom shade had begun to bore me too, maybe it was time for a change there as well.
A sensible solution to a rather dim problem. Not an obsession, not an addiction, not a problem at all. I can quit anytime I want to…..
Each Christmas, new shades must be bought and tried, each lamp must be moved around different locations throughout the house in order to find the most suitable spot for it’s qualities. Each spring, lampshades must be exchanged and moved around and placed onto different bases to see their overall effect upon the dynamics of the room. It seems that every spare penny obtained seems to go on buying lamps and lamp shades. She is, in a word obsessed. Each time the room is moved around she makes an excuse to go and buy another lamp or two to fill in the gaps that the reorganisation of tables has left.
I have been warned that this condition is highly contagious and that, if enough time is spent around the afflicted, the addiction can ‘rub off’ as it were.
On a completely different note, we moved our living room round on Monday in order to fit the little one’s playpen in a suitable position that she can’t reach anything that she shouldn’t, we can walk around the room easily and we can see her from all angles. This left a sizable lighting gap, and realising that I no longer found my current illumination solutions attractive, I instigated a trip to find the perfect lamp to fill the gap. Once I had purchased my new floor lamp with matching shade, I noticed that the light shade in the living room didn’t match my selection, therefore I would need to change it. And while I was at it, the bedroom shade had begun to bore me too, maybe it was time for a change there as well.
A sensible solution to a rather dim problem. Not an obsession, not an addiction, not a problem at all. I can quit anytime I want to…..
Monday 20 June 2011
DESPERATELY WANTED
I am an avid collector of many things, two or which are Classic Rupert Annuals and merchandise (or which I have three huge boxes, filled to the brim of my Rupert treasures) and Rainbow Brite.
A while ago I saw a metal toy kitchen set in the Rite Hite range made by Wolverine toys, comprising of Sink, Fridge, Cabinet and washing machine (twin tub, top loader style) in yellow, emblazoned with pictures of Rainbow Brite and the sprites cooking, cleaning and doing anything vaguely ‘kitchenified’. I wanted. I wanted very much but I had no space (I still lived with my parents), nor did I have the money, nor a good enough reason to make such large purchases.
However, now I have a place to store them, I have the money to buy them and I have a very good reason (a toddler who would get many years of pleasure from them).
If anyone knows where I can get hold of these amazing items please let me know! Even if they aren’t adorned with Rainbow Brite I would still like a set that the little one can play with, and I can always customise them with removable decals.
Thanking you kindly :)
A while ago I saw a metal toy kitchen set in the Rite Hite range made by Wolverine toys, comprising of Sink, Fridge, Cabinet and washing machine (twin tub, top loader style) in yellow, emblazoned with pictures of Rainbow Brite and the sprites cooking, cleaning and doing anything vaguely ‘kitchenified’. I wanted. I wanted very much but I had no space (I still lived with my parents), nor did I have the money, nor a good enough reason to make such large purchases.
However, now I have a place to store them, I have the money to buy them and I have a very good reason (a toddler who would get many years of pleasure from them).
If anyone knows where I can get hold of these amazing items please let me know! Even if they aren’t adorned with Rainbow Brite I would still like a set that the little one can play with, and I can always customise them with removable decals.
Thanking you kindly :)
Vintage doll, mint in box....£5,000
It can’t have escaped anyone’s notice this penchant the world has for keeping toys in their original packaging for 30 years (and since when has 1981 become vintage?) and then listing them on an online auction expecting them to have gained enough value that the seller could then purchase a used sports car.
My first reasoning for this unorthodox behaviour of placing slightly higher aspirations upon these items than they can reasonably be expected to bear was that many people must be under the impression that once obtained, a child will, undoubtably wish to rip off and discard the box in order to play with it’s contents. But since I have had a child of my own, and thus had more than ample reason to peruse the brightly coloured shelves of toy emporiums nationwide, I have reached a different conclusion.
Today we all went shopping in order to spend the little one’s birthday money and, after long and careful thought, we decided that toys were the best way forward. So, with this in mind we set off in search of purveyors of toys, games and generally all things imaginative, bright and educational. As little one had kindly been given a voucher to be used on anything she cared to buy from Mothercare or ELC, we made the Early Learning Centre our first port of call and we were delighted to find that their ‘Happy Land’ range of toys had a ‘buy one get one free’ offer extending to all toys with a big, round, purple sticker adorning the front of the box. Naturally, I spent a considerable amount of time choosing the best deal while the little one made it clear to daddy that she wanted to get her socks filthy by walking him round the shop. I made my selection, bought two play sets and saved £16 (for which I was very grateful) and we left the store as satisfied customers.
Once we got home, I decided that in order for little one to play with her new purchases, I would need to extricate them from their cardboard prisons. Firstly, I came up against sticky tape. Enough sticky tape to hold together separating tectonic plates. Once a good ten minutes had been spent, I then pulled the inner section from the box and found that every section of each individual piece in the play set was held fast by not one but three pieces of wire which passed through two punctures in the back cardboard and fastened behind. I set to my task with fast dwindling enthusiasm and after 15 minutes had decided that maybe the main reason toys stayed in their boxes was that parents simply hadn’t got the time to sit for an hour apiece and unwrap them.
Either that or, as happened with the little one, children are actually far more content to play with anything you have to hand.
My first reasoning for this unorthodox behaviour of placing slightly higher aspirations upon these items than they can reasonably be expected to bear was that many people must be under the impression that once obtained, a child will, undoubtably wish to rip off and discard the box in order to play with it’s contents. But since I have had a child of my own, and thus had more than ample reason to peruse the brightly coloured shelves of toy emporiums nationwide, I have reached a different conclusion.
Today we all went shopping in order to spend the little one’s birthday money and, after long and careful thought, we decided that toys were the best way forward. So, with this in mind we set off in search of purveyors of toys, games and generally all things imaginative, bright and educational. As little one had kindly been given a voucher to be used on anything she cared to buy from Mothercare or ELC, we made the Early Learning Centre our first port of call and we were delighted to find that their ‘Happy Land’ range of toys had a ‘buy one get one free’ offer extending to all toys with a big, round, purple sticker adorning the front of the box. Naturally, I spent a considerable amount of time choosing the best deal while the little one made it clear to daddy that she wanted to get her socks filthy by walking him round the shop. I made my selection, bought two play sets and saved £16 (for which I was very grateful) and we left the store as satisfied customers.
Once we got home, I decided that in order for little one to play with her new purchases, I would need to extricate them from their cardboard prisons. Firstly, I came up against sticky tape. Enough sticky tape to hold together separating tectonic plates. Once a good ten minutes had been spent, I then pulled the inner section from the box and found that every section of each individual piece in the play set was held fast by not one but three pieces of wire which passed through two punctures in the back cardboard and fastened behind. I set to my task with fast dwindling enthusiasm and after 15 minutes had decided that maybe the main reason toys stayed in their boxes was that parents simply hadn’t got the time to sit for an hour apiece and unwrap them.
Either that or, as happened with the little one, children are actually far more content to play with anything you have to hand.
Wednesday 15 June 2011
Slam dunk
‘She lay there, burised, battered, waiting for the numbing pain to stop, needing to feel safe enough to allow herself another breath. The pain in itself would have been enough to break her, but the noise...oh the noise! The searing, ear splitting cacophony that would trickle through her every waking thought, plagueing her, taunting her. She knew she would never sleep again.
The tears came, she could not stop them, they welled up and spilled fourth like a river bursting it’s banks, wave after wave of anguished sobs squeezed her throat or every drop of life giving breath before jolting her wrecked body and reforming for another attack on her fragile state. She attempted to move, hot searing pain shot from her neck through her shoulder and down into her fingers like drops of molten metal.
How could this happen to her again? She felt her cheeks flush as her body filled with the shame of what had befallen her. Had she have acted when she was warned then the mornings events would never have happened at all. She only had herself to blame’.
Today I decided in my infinite wisdom that my slippers, although worn still had plenty of life left in them, despite the soul catching on the floor each time I raised my foot, despite the hole the size of the Grand Canyon, despite the tread being so worn that they looked as though they had been polished by a professional slipper bufferer, I still decided to wear them. These would be perfect, I thought, for my new hobby.
Staircase skiing.
The tears came, she could not stop them, they welled up and spilled fourth like a river bursting it’s banks, wave after wave of anguished sobs squeezed her throat or every drop of life giving breath before jolting her wrecked body and reforming for another attack on her fragile state. She attempted to move, hot searing pain shot from her neck through her shoulder and down into her fingers like drops of molten metal.
How could this happen to her again? She felt her cheeks flush as her body filled with the shame of what had befallen her. Had she have acted when she was warned then the mornings events would never have happened at all. She only had herself to blame’.
Today I decided in my infinite wisdom that my slippers, although worn still had plenty of life left in them, despite the soul catching on the floor each time I raised my foot, despite the hole the size of the Grand Canyon, despite the tread being so worn that they looked as though they had been polished by a professional slipper bufferer, I still decided to wear them. These would be perfect, I thought, for my new hobby.
Staircase skiing.
Wednesday 8 June 2011
Why, oh why, oh why do people feel the need to point out the blindingly obvious and expect you to laugh?
We had decided upon a trip to the shopping centre today to finish the party shopping for Sunday’s Picnic to celebrate our little girl’s first birthday. I wanted Sainsbury’s, so we parked in the car park next to Sainsbury’s, struggled in the rain with a sleeping toddler out of the car seat and into the buggy and went inside to shop.
Armed with my trusty shopping list and a heart infused with a mixture of enthusiasm, expectation and hope I browsed the isles looking for the remaining ingredients I need to feed about 11 children and umpteen adults for an afternoon. Sainsbury’s didn’t have everything I wanted so I was forced into the main centre, looking for other options.
I came up with the idea that, although it is over the other side of the complex, ASDA was the way forward, so we headed off in that direction. On the way, our little girl woke up in an amicable mood considering she was restrained and not allowed to run about as she has become fond of doing. ASDA was busy, (probably all disappointed Sainsbury’s shoppers) and, as we had quite a number of things left on our list, we needed a trolley. After hunting around for the trolley token I keep in my purse, we acquired a trolley and perambulated up and down the isles, slowly filling the trolley with all the items that Sainsbury’s didn’t stock. When we got to the checkout we found that we needed the trolley to get all the shopping, plus now one very annoyed and loudly letting us know little girl, and the purchases we had already made from Sainsbury’s back to the car park on the other side of the shopping centre.
We made the trip back accompanied by the usual mix of knowing glances from parents, bemused glances from children, annoyed glances from teenagers and patronising smiles from the elderly as our child made it clear to everyone traveling in the lift with us that she was both bored and hungry and really wanted to be home, running around and playing with her toys.
We got back to the car, loaded up the shopping, got screamer into her carseat and I took the trolley to the trolley park to retrieve my token.
Here’s where the main rant starts and my mind switches from calm and well thought out to someone who has spent the last 8 hours stuck in a lift with Ant & Dec.
The trolley park only takes trolleys from Sainsbury’s customers. I could almost see the smirking grin on the face of whoever thought of this fantastic notion. ‘I’m sorry ASDA pleb, take your tacky little ‘ASDA cheapo’ trolley and get off our property’. I’ve bought stuff from Sainsbury’s...in fact...I parked here specifically FOR Sainsbury’s...and if they’d had what I wanted, I wouldn’t have had to go anywhere other than Sainsbury’s, so really, it’s you own fault if customers are forced to shop elsewhere.
*That smirking face again* I’m sorry, you must take your trolley back in order to retrieve your token.
Ah for Christ’s sake!
All the time, screamer was still telling the world how annoying the lack of freedom and toys was.
Alright, I will go all the way back to ASDA and take the trolley back, retrieve my token and come all the way back again to my car, all the while the frozen food I have bought will be defrosting, my daughter will have shattered every windscreen and set off every car alarm within a 10 mile radius and my husband will probably have been forced to take the drastic decision to drive home without me, just to stop the terrible din from the back seat. And all because you don’t have a little bar with a chain attached and a sign informing ASDA customers that they may deposit their trolleys near to where they parked their cars.
So, back I go, feeling a complete fool pushing an empty shopping trolley back across the complex, down in a lift and all the way over to ASDA.
In this particular shopping centre there are independent vendors who stand in the middle of the walkways who accost you as you go by and try to sell you car insurance, windows, kitchens, sky TV, fill in the blank, and I tend to just look very busy and rush past muttering ‘no thank you’. Today however a man standing in front of a fake double glazed window felt the need to impress upon me the magnitude of my predicament. ‘Oi love, someone’s nicked yer shopping!’.
Git.
Armed with my trusty shopping list and a heart infused with a mixture of enthusiasm, expectation and hope I browsed the isles looking for the remaining ingredients I need to feed about 11 children and umpteen adults for an afternoon. Sainsbury’s didn’t have everything I wanted so I was forced into the main centre, looking for other options.
I came up with the idea that, although it is over the other side of the complex, ASDA was the way forward, so we headed off in that direction. On the way, our little girl woke up in an amicable mood considering she was restrained and not allowed to run about as she has become fond of doing. ASDA was busy, (probably all disappointed Sainsbury’s shoppers) and, as we had quite a number of things left on our list, we needed a trolley. After hunting around for the trolley token I keep in my purse, we acquired a trolley and perambulated up and down the isles, slowly filling the trolley with all the items that Sainsbury’s didn’t stock. When we got to the checkout we found that we needed the trolley to get all the shopping, plus now one very annoyed and loudly letting us know little girl, and the purchases we had already made from Sainsbury’s back to the car park on the other side of the shopping centre.
We made the trip back accompanied by the usual mix of knowing glances from parents, bemused glances from children, annoyed glances from teenagers and patronising smiles from the elderly as our child made it clear to everyone traveling in the lift with us that she was both bored and hungry and really wanted to be home, running around and playing with her toys.
We got back to the car, loaded up the shopping, got screamer into her carseat and I took the trolley to the trolley park to retrieve my token.
Here’s where the main rant starts and my mind switches from calm and well thought out to someone who has spent the last 8 hours stuck in a lift with Ant & Dec.
The trolley park only takes trolleys from Sainsbury’s customers. I could almost see the smirking grin on the face of whoever thought of this fantastic notion. ‘I’m sorry ASDA pleb, take your tacky little ‘ASDA cheapo’ trolley and get off our property’. I’ve bought stuff from Sainsbury’s...in fact...I parked here specifically FOR Sainsbury’s...and if they’d had what I wanted, I wouldn’t have had to go anywhere other than Sainsbury’s, so really, it’s you own fault if customers are forced to shop elsewhere.
*That smirking face again* I’m sorry, you must take your trolley back in order to retrieve your token.
Ah for Christ’s sake!
All the time, screamer was still telling the world how annoying the lack of freedom and toys was.
Alright, I will go all the way back to ASDA and take the trolley back, retrieve my token and come all the way back again to my car, all the while the frozen food I have bought will be defrosting, my daughter will have shattered every windscreen and set off every car alarm within a 10 mile radius and my husband will probably have been forced to take the drastic decision to drive home without me, just to stop the terrible din from the back seat. And all because you don’t have a little bar with a chain attached and a sign informing ASDA customers that they may deposit their trolleys near to where they parked their cars.
So, back I go, feeling a complete fool pushing an empty shopping trolley back across the complex, down in a lift and all the way over to ASDA.
In this particular shopping centre there are independent vendors who stand in the middle of the walkways who accost you as you go by and try to sell you car insurance, windows, kitchens, sky TV, fill in the blank, and I tend to just look very busy and rush past muttering ‘no thank you’. Today however a man standing in front of a fake double glazed window felt the need to impress upon me the magnitude of my predicament. ‘Oi love, someone’s nicked yer shopping!’.
Git.
Sunday 5 June 2011
Swelling my ego...or possibly tearing my soul
It has never occurred to me to write a blog. I think I woke up on the morn of the technological age with a headache and a grumpy disposition that has lasted from the Amstrad green screen through to the iPod touchscreen and will probably serve me well into the age of the ibod no screen (can I patent that now so that when it becomes a reality I can sue and run away to a forgotten town in Tibet without the fear of being ‘found’ by all the wonderful inventions of this technological dawn? No? Oh well, worth a try eh?)
To me, a blog is a running commentary of your life, set out in pretty prose for others to read and comment on accordingly, thus either fueling a rant inducing inferno within the tattered remnants of your beaten soul or swelling your ego with nods of agreement coupled with the occasional ‘I want your babies’ thrown in for good measure.
However, due to the fact that you are (hopefully) reading my blog, I must have changed my mind and decided that some personal web presence and ego swelling is worth the soul tearing that I am likely to get from all the cyber fish already caught in the net (or would cyber flies caught in the web be a better analogy?) of the great technological dawn.
Each time I hear the words ‘technological dawn’ it reminds me of a fantastic scene from the film Time Bandits (one of my favourite childhood films) in which David Warner's character ‘Evil’ rants on about creating the technological age, a cold age of computers and digital watches. I think this sums up everything I feel about ‘technology’...it’s evil.
There is a famous conspiracy that all technological gadgets have a built in mechanism that determines their life span according to the preferences of the individual manufacturer. In that whatever piece of life saving gadgetry you have bought will invariably break within days of the end of the warranty, thus then forcing you to pay for your own damned repair, or the life of your appliance expiring just in time for the release of the ‘new and improved’ model in the hopes that the consumer is so fed up with all the jibes they get from their ‘hip and withit’ friends that they think ‘what the hell, this things broken anyway, might as well treat myself to a new one’ and splash out on that new model that not only heats water but can also connect to your wifi and automatically update your twitter, myspace and facebook profiles to let everyone know that you are enjoying a lovely hot cup of the beverage of your choice. (OK, can I patent THAT then?).
The main problem I have with technology is that although I would rather live my life without it’s wonderful ‘freedom’ which in itself is a joke, how are you free when with an awe inspiring handbag sized contraption you can be reached even at 3am when you have no idea where you are, what your name is or who in the hell is calling you from a night club in Costa Del Chav to ask you what the weather is like where you are? Or worse the ‘I have no idea I have called you and all you are going to hear is the sound of me pushing a trolley round Sainsbury’s, muffled by the contents of my handbag’ call where no matter how hard you scream down the line they simply can’t hear you and have no idea their phone is on.
Anyway, back to my point. I am very gifted when it comes to technology. If you want something doing with a computer, I will find a way to do it. I have owned, hacked and re-written codes for forums, programmed animated websites with html, php and flash, created flash files programmed with actionscript, taught myself object orientated programming languages (such as C++) and had a go at 3D modeling with Alias’ MAYA programme. I can record and manipulate sound and I can use photoshop properly.
Why is it then that I have no idea how to answer my mobile phone and I have no channels available on my television set.
To me, a blog is a running commentary of your life, set out in pretty prose for others to read and comment on accordingly, thus either fueling a rant inducing inferno within the tattered remnants of your beaten soul or swelling your ego with nods of agreement coupled with the occasional ‘I want your babies’ thrown in for good measure.
However, due to the fact that you are (hopefully) reading my blog, I must have changed my mind and decided that some personal web presence and ego swelling is worth the soul tearing that I am likely to get from all the cyber fish already caught in the net (or would cyber flies caught in the web be a better analogy?) of the great technological dawn.
Each time I hear the words ‘technological dawn’ it reminds me of a fantastic scene from the film Time Bandits (one of my favourite childhood films) in which David Warner's character ‘Evil’ rants on about creating the technological age, a cold age of computers and digital watches. I think this sums up everything I feel about ‘technology’...it’s evil.
There is a famous conspiracy that all technological gadgets have a built in mechanism that determines their life span according to the preferences of the individual manufacturer. In that whatever piece of life saving gadgetry you have bought will invariably break within days of the end of the warranty, thus then forcing you to pay for your own damned repair, or the life of your appliance expiring just in time for the release of the ‘new and improved’ model in the hopes that the consumer is so fed up with all the jibes they get from their ‘hip and withit’ friends that they think ‘what the hell, this things broken anyway, might as well treat myself to a new one’ and splash out on that new model that not only heats water but can also connect to your wifi and automatically update your twitter, myspace and facebook profiles to let everyone know that you are enjoying a lovely hot cup of the beverage of your choice. (OK, can I patent THAT then?).
The main problem I have with technology is that although I would rather live my life without it’s wonderful ‘freedom’ which in itself is a joke, how are you free when with an awe inspiring handbag sized contraption you can be reached even at 3am when you have no idea where you are, what your name is or who in the hell is calling you from a night club in Costa Del Chav to ask you what the weather is like where you are? Or worse the ‘I have no idea I have called you and all you are going to hear is the sound of me pushing a trolley round Sainsbury’s, muffled by the contents of my handbag’ call where no matter how hard you scream down the line they simply can’t hear you and have no idea their phone is on.
Anyway, back to my point. I am very gifted when it comes to technology. If you want something doing with a computer, I will find a way to do it. I have owned, hacked and re-written codes for forums, programmed animated websites with html, php and flash, created flash files programmed with actionscript, taught myself object orientated programming languages (such as C++) and had a go at 3D modeling with Alias’ MAYA programme. I can record and manipulate sound and I can use photoshop properly.
Why is it then that I have no idea how to answer my mobile phone and I have no channels available on my television set.
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