Your computer is a writer’s most important tool, they said. So always keep your computer updated, they said. That way it will always be rapid-fast, virus-free and error-free, they said.
Huh, what a lot of tosh that was. Since I updated my computer software last week, it has been nothing but problems. Aaaarrgh.
If you’re on Windows 10 operating system and accepted that update which came through from the inner sanctum of the Microsoft empire, you too may be having a lot of PC hiccups. Maybe you don’t realise it yet but it is causing major wobblies. I am tearing out the few follicles I have left because this stupid machine is now writing jerkily, minimising pages which I am trying to write on and taking me to web pages I don’t want. Not again. I never asked for the website of The Free Church of Scotland (Continuing).
Supergeeks who write about technological stuff say it is the worst system update ever offered to the public and that it could cause havoc before an update comes down the pipes that is rewritten or to give it its full technical name – an update that actually does what it’s supposed to.
The news is gloomy what with the chaos caused by this Microsoft burach and the carnage caused by Stormy Daniels. Did I say that right? Stormy Daniels was no storm but she did put the wind up some people. It was Storm Dennis. That’s it. Whatever happened to Stormy Daniels? I’ll just Google her. No, this computer can’t even do that right now. It just brought up pictures of ladies with nice hats going to church in a storm. These glitches are (Continuing).
Bill Gates, please come out of retirement and fix my PC. Technology is supposed to make life easier. Having no idea whether this computer will last until I complete this, I should remember that some of us have been baffled for a long time by even basic technology. Like a bulb.
A veteran island bus driver called his depot in Stornoway to say there was a problem with his vehicle one morning recently. A warning light had come up on the dashboard and he was on the west of Lewis with a busload of impatient passengers wanting to get to school and work. The veteran driver had never seen the like of this persistent warning beacon. He asked for engineers to be informed. That prompted instant action at the Broken Bus Department. He was not to move the bus one inch, his bosses instructed.
A replacement bus would immediately be taken off another route and would be dispatched from town as soon as possible. They hoped to have it to him within a couple of hours, or as soon as possible. Mayhem ensued all round the island but you cannot be too cautious when a wee warning light pops up on your dashboard. Excellent advice for the drivers of charabancs and all Vauxhall Vivaros.
A stand-in bus reached eventually and transferred the passengers. The driver vacated the driving seat so an engineer with an iPad behind his ear could look at the dashboard. The engineer shook his head and took a sharp intake of breath. Things looked grim. Meanwhile, the driver got out to apologise again to the passengers when he noticed the boot of the bus was slightly open. As he slammed it shut, the engineer whooped loudly in the cab and declared the bus fixed.
Yep, the open boot lid had caused the warning light. Twenty five years that driver had driven that bus, or buses like it, and in all that time he had no idea what that wee light was for.
Ah, technology. Supposed to make life easier. It doesn’t and it makes us tell lies. You know the biggest technology lie of all that it makes us tell is when we sign up to a new online application. “I have read and agree to the Terms and Conditions.” Yeah, right.
Still, we love all that new-fangled online stuff until it takes over our lives. Then we are left struggling. That is why I have pulled back from the latest apps and stuff. I’ve actually given up all social media. I was online for far too long every day and I am now making friends off Facebook but applying the same principles as I did online. Every day I stroll along Cromwell Street in Stornoway and I tell anyone I meet what I’ve eaten, how I feel, what I did last night and what I will do tomorrow.
Then I hand them snaps of my family, photos from our last holiday and, of course, close-ups of last night’s dinner. I also listen to all their dull conversations and tell them I like them and smile with tears running down my cheeks. Guess what? It’s working. I already have three people following me – two police officers and a psychiatrist.
