Topping up on Christmas Day

This morning I received a text from my elder girl, a crie de couer, if you will, from the slopes of the Alps, where she is currently skiing with her sister and father.

This is the longest time my girls have spent away from me since they were born, and I was prepared to be absolutely miserable, missing them with a passion akin to that of Romeo and Juliet! However, I've had no chance to miss them, as they've both texted me frequently throughout the holiday. In the first two days alone, I received 17 texts from them. I say "them", but the texts were, in fact, from Lottie, who seems to have the necessary ability. Lizzy confessed on the phone last night that she doesn't really know how to text, as the predictive text confuses her. I think it's rather sweet that she doesn't yet know this arcane art.

This mornings texts were full of cheer, as my girls delved through their stockings (yes, I sent them with stockings!) and told me how much they were enjoying their presents. And then came the request. "Can u top me up please? Im running out of credit". Ah, the joys of the English language, in all it's many forms...

Returning to the point, after an abortive attempt to top up online, I decided to go to a local cashpoint machine and top up from there. Within the last year or so I've started noticing that this option is now available at many cashpoint machines. What a boon to the traveller who has insufficient credit to actually perform the top up from their place of vacation. As, indeed, I found it last year, when I sent out similar text requests to various friends and family to try to find a way of topping me up.

I pushed my card into the machine, Lottie's number at the ready, and the machine swallowed my card. After not so much as a gentle burp, the next victim was exhorted to "Please insert your card." It would appear that my luck this morning seems to be all bad. Perhaps I would be better going back to bed and waiting for Boxing Day? Perhaps not. I will thank technology for the wondrous invention of the mobile phone. I called my bank, while standing at the offending machine, and immediately spun my tale of woe. The card is cancelled, a new one winging it's way to me. Well, perhaps winging is not the right word. The voice to whom I spoke warned that they usually expect replacement cards to arrive within 7 days, but this is 7 working days... I suspect I'll see my new card next year, at that rate.

The point of this blog, though, is to question why on earth is SO DAMN DIFFICULT to top up someone else's phone. To do it through the vodafone web site, you have to register your debit/credit card against the phone. Which is all fine and dandy if it's your own phone, because they insist on sending the phone a code, which you have to type into the registration process to prove the phone is yours. Not only is the phone not mine, it's not ruddy well here. Why do they need to do that?

I can understand having your card registered, because there's the whole "you might have stolen that card" issue. This is fine, but I have no idea if I've got an account with Vodafone, and there's still the whole code-sent-to-the-phone issue mentioned above. I remember registering my debit card with the phone when we put in the new sim card, but, again, can I stress how the phone is not with me, it's in France. I can buy an e-voucher, but Lottie has to phone 2345 and type in the 12-digit number. Which means I have to text it to her (or Lizzy or her dad) and make sure I put the right number in.

What about Paypal, I hear you cry. You'd have thought Paypal, with it's registering of cards, would be willing to make topping up phones a bit easier. You'd be wrong there. I have googled until my fingers have blisters, but I can find no way to top up the damn phone from here without having a whole new account with vodafone, or going to a cashpoint machine. You can understand my reluctance to shove my remaining card into the next cashpoint machine, worrying that I'll have no way to support myself until the New Year brings my replacement card.

Friends and laughter on Christmas Eve - It doesn't get any better than that.

Last week I allowed myself to go on a Blind Date. Not, you understand, the Cilla Black variety, which would probably have turned out hideously ghastly, but the kind where a well meaning friend thinks to himself - "Hmm... She's way too geeky for me, but I've got this geeky friend..." And he can hear wedding bells already. I agreed for various reasons, not least of which was that I had nothing else planned for that evening, and I'd hate to let a potential Johnny Depp pass by without a look in!

So there I was, in the pub, chatting away with this chap. He's nice. Although I'm not sure that nice is quite sufficient for me - I think I'll have to add witty and urbane to my list of requirements. I had a moment of chuckliness when I found that he's from up North, and plays the trombone in a brass band. But I controlled myself - with effort. There was a moment of embarrassment when I realised that in their chat of restoring a Spitfire to it's former glory, my "Date" and my "friend" were, in fact, talking of the one made by Triumph, not the one made by Supermarine in the second world war. In my attempt to cover my confusion (having asked the question "Did you manage to make it fly?"), I blurted out that I had, in my youth, had sex in a Spitfire. After establishing that one had to be considerably younger and bendier than we all were now, the conversation righted itself, and continued, in a reasonably cheerful way until my "Date" let loose the information that he is the proud owner of not one, but two, Caravans! OK - I lost it. Unable to contain my mirth, every laugh line on my face crinkled, and guffaws ensued.

So what, you query, bewildered, has this to do with laughter on Christmas Eve? OK - I'm getting to it.

Last night I was attending the annual Christmas Eve bash hosted by my brother and his wonderful wife, an event peopled by the kind of friends you've kept with you over the years because, with them, you feel comfortable and happy. While my sister-in-law attempts to integrate new people into the happy core, that cheerful bunch arrive year after year and sit round chatting merrily. Last night I was compelled to mention to one of the ladies about the aforementioned Blind Date, detailing it in much the same manner as above. Her husband, a man of wit and humour (!), chuckled away with the rest of the crowd, until I told them that it was very likely that I'd meet this "Date" at the beer festival next year, he being a bit of a fan of the fest. At which point JD exploded with laughter, saying "I'm going to have to come up to you at the beer festival and remind you that I still have that Spitfire, if you want to try it out again!"

Now I'm not saying that beer fest is in anyway boring, but this would definitely be a way of making the evening more fun. I think I would have trouble keeping a straight face!

Merry Christmas to all my Readers!

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

You know, I'm always finding something to grumble about with regard to Christmas - if it isn't the shops with Christmas stock and decorations up as the children head back to school for the new academic year, it's the spotty oiks trying to get money out of me by turning up at the doorstep and launching into a half-hearted "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" so pathetic and out of tune that you'd almost be inclined to pay them just to leave!

In fact, in the past I've promised to put up a sign on my door, to compliment the one stating that we don't buy or sell on the doorstep (a sign which afforded me much amusement on the occasion I asked, rather facetiously, of a doorstep salesman, if he'd read the sign, only to have him back away apologetically when he did), clarifying that unless you're prepared to give me at least 2 verses of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen", you're not going to see a penny of my money. For while the spotty oiks are annoying in a feeble way, what's really getting me started are the Rotary people - you know the ones, they turn up in your street with a carnival float pumping out Christmas carols through speakers which have heard better days, and this is supposed to encourage me to give generously?

So this very evening, sitting with my girls, chatting, watching the telly, I was horrified to hear what sounded like the idiot from the house behind us (who really does have some VERY good car speakers!) sitting in the road at the front, playing some kind of rap while waiting for his friend to come out. Only when I opened the door to deliver a lecture (at least the idiot listens to me when I ask him to turn down the music) what did I discover? Yup - you've got it - the ruddy Rotary Club, and their "updated" Christmas CD and carnival float.

While I can't remember exactly what I snorted in disgust as I slammed the door, it was clearly sufficient for the collector attempting to open the garden gate, who gave up at this point, and so I was never exhorted to give.

All I have to contend with now are the spotty oiks. Perhaps I should write that sign after all. I could probably get it laminated...

Something from the Anorak_Girl

I realise I'm known as a bit of a geek, and that my love of Sci-Fi may possibly make me seem somewhat odd. And while I've always been a fan of Star Trek, especially The Next Generation, I didn't really get into the later spin-offs. I tried with DS9, but couldn't get to grips with a stationary story line - it was almost as if they'd copied Babylon 5. Almost. And with a better budget, so it probably doesn't look quite so 80's dated right now. I wouldn't know, I couldn't get into it. I never even gave Enterprise a chance, because I had other things on my mind when it came out. Babies and stuff. But I did rather enjoy Voyager - this may have had something to do with being one of the very few people on the planet who didn't find Janeway annoying. I liked her - she was spunky!

But it would appear that I didn't get into Voyager quite as well as I'd thought, because I've just discovered, while browsing through my Radio Times (no, I never did send that letter off) that there's a character called Annorax in it!

Oh, come on! You can not be serious! You've called a character Annorax, and you expect me not to laugh!

You know what I think? I think it's an hommage to all the fans over the years, without whom Star Trek would have been nothing.

Paper Books vs. Ebooks

My most recent copy of PC Pro arrived a week or so ago, with a review and discussion of eBook readers. These devices have come on a long way, and while I may be happy to carry a goodly handful of eBooks on my phone for reading when I stumble into boredom, I can understand that a tiny little 2" screen isn't going to be the screen of choice for most discerning readers.

However, the technology seems to be truly amazing, with some of the devices conserving energy by using the battery only when actually changing a page for the next one. The size of the screens is much closer to that of a real paperback than my phone or even my Palm will ever be. It's got to be said, though, that I love to have a bookcase worth of books with me all the time.

On the other hand, I completely understand those who hate these devices with a fiery passion - I too, love the feel and smell of books, even new ones. I love the paper as it moves against my fingers, and I really like to be able to see illustrations as they were intended. And comics - no eBook reader will ever be able to display comics for me with anything approaching the original experience. That's going to be a big no-no.

But we're not here to bellyache about eBook readers - I'm down with both arguments (sorry, I'm not down, I'm entirely sympathetic with). What I'm here to grumble about is the price of eBooks. After all, for me, a book is mostly about the story.

I don't know why I still find myself surprised that the price of an eBook is completely over the top in comparison to purchasing, with all the attendant costs, a physical book.

This morning I got one of my bi-weekly email from Fictionwise, promoting their latest offerings. This week, due to the excitement building for the forthcoming release of Twilight, a film of a book about vampires, they're pushing The Twilight Saga. The first book, Twilight, is on sale at Fictionwise for the princely sum of $10.99 (£6.74, according to my currency conversion gadget on Google), but you can get the same book, in paper this time, at Amazon, for £2.95 (or if you need to shop in the US, Amazon.com has it for $6.04). Sure, to qualify for free postage on your book, you'll need to work out how to spend a whole extra £2.05, but there - you might as well buy the second book in the series, New Moon, for £3.98 to bump up your total. So, for 19p more than the cost of one eBook, you get two actual books. Books you can feel.

And here's the lovely part. The part which always puts me off buying eBooks. If you don't like the stories you've just bought, you can do one of many things.

1. You can give the book to your pre-teen daughter and see if she likes it. Failing that...
2. You can sell the book on eBay. Nobody bidding? OK...
3. There are charity shops always looking for newer books. Hell, they'll take pretty much anything!

With an eBook, even if it's not a secure format restricted to a single device, giving your book away or selling it on seems to be considered tantamount to major fraud! Let's compare and contrast...

This is written inside a paperback.
"This paperback is sold suject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers consend in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser."

And at the beginning of an eBook.
"NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorised person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and imprisonment."

Wow! There you have it. Legally I am allowed to loan out my paperback, sell it on eBay, or give it away, as long as I don't mess with the cover it came with. OK, this might be a problem for those Blue Peter sticky-back-plastic-o-philes out there, but for the rest of us, we're not that distructive, so with the exception of a bit of bending, possibly a rip or two, the cover's going to be the same.

And what if I actually enjoy a book? Just this morning, during a discussion about the forthcoming Brideshead Revisited film, I confessed that I'd never read the book, so the English teacher to whom I was chatting said, "Come up to the English department - you can borrow a copy, we've loads up there." If I read a book and enjoy it, I can press it upon my brother, and he can enjoy it too. If I read an eBook, legally I'm not allowed to "loan" him a copy of the book. Technically, I probably will.

I suspect that eBooks will remain a niche option until publishers become a whole lot more sensible about pricing. And I don't even want to start on the DRM problem - I've bought a book I dislike, and now I can't even sell it on to recover some of the costs? Poo!

What Would YOU Do?

I got into work this morning, to find the usual bunch of interesting things on my desks - notes telling me that people aren't using the computer rooms at certain times (emails? Anyone?), broken headphones etc. This morning, however, there was a new item. Not an unusual one, by any means. A digital camera, with a post-it note stuck on with this message.

"Please please can you empty this camera when you get a minute - no rush. Thank you v. much."

So, on receipt of a note like that, what would be your first thought?

Mine was "It's not bloody rocket science!" as I navigated through the menus to the Format option. And then, a nano-second after I'd pressed the Yes button, "Oh, I wonder if they meant that I should save the pictures somewhere else?"

So I went off to try and find the owner of the camera, and ascertain exactly what it was they had expected of me. Please note that the post-it wasn't even signed, so I had trouble working out who was the legitimate owner of the camera. Sadly, on locating the owner, she confirmed to me that she had, very much, wanted me to transfer the pictures (probably the last pictures taken of her grandmother, enjoying her 100th birthday celebrations with the whole family, who subsequently died last week, or something) to somewhere safe, thus preserving them forever.

Colour me feeling really guilty right now. :-(

There's just too much out there.

Do you ever, in your wanderings round the internets, think to yourself that there's a small possibility that there's just too much stuff out there?

This question occurred to me last night, as I logged into a social networking site, and was presented with the blurb from the site, which is obviously intended to enthuse potential new users into signing up, and using this site, instead of one of the, oh-god-how-many other sites.

For me, however, being greeted with "We've got so much content that if you started watching when you were a baby, and watched all day, every day, you'd be dead before you could watch it all." And THIS is designed to encourage us to use the site? Instead I'm filled with an overwhelming sense of despair, from the knowledge that I will NEVER, ever reach the end of it.

There's a world, literally a whole world, of stuff on the internet, and I'm afraid I don't have time in my whole life to see it all. What if I miss something in which I might have been interested because it's not in my list of things which I know interest me. How will I know if I have an interest in bacon related lol-cats (insert topic of choice here) if I don't know it exists?

So that's my main concern. But then there are the subsidiary worries - should I be outside getting more fresh air? Will I die, hunched like a wizened homunculus* over my steaming keyboard, as I try to experience everything the web has to offer? Should I be trying to get a life, meeting real people?

I have signed up for very few, it has to be said, social networking sites. I did jump onto the FriendsReunited site when it first came up, but Facebook and Bebo (and their many copycats) have passed me by. I find it perplexing that people who haven't got the first clue about how to make their print jobs come out can work with the bewildering array of options available on Facebook and the others. And then I think I may be spending too much time worrying about social networking, because isn't that where people go if they want to find incriminating evidence against you?

I've also failed completely to be sucked into the wonder of the MMORPG, content to remain in the last few years of the dark ages (or 20th Century, as we have come to call it), playing only Tomb Raider, and actually enjoying the story. I've tried (very hard, you understand) to watch my nephew play World of Warcraft, but after enjoying the scenery for about 5 minutes, I found the game play rather repetitive. You run around and kill things. You can do quests, a piece of knowlege which filled me with hope for a few seconds, until I realised the the quests all seem to involve running round and killing things. Sure, the graphics are pretty good (better if your machine doesn't run like cold treacle, I gather), and the environment is lovely to look at. The characters seem pretty flat, though, and any point of the game (are you working towards anything specific?) escapes me completely. I think I will have to consider myself a bit of a MMORPG luddite.

What else am I missing out on, due to the sheer volume of stuff?

*Thanks, Lois McMaster Bujold, for a lovely phrase. I can't remember which book it comes from, but it's definitely from the Vorkosigan universe.