The Merry go Round Broke Down!
Yesterday proved to be something of a banner day chez nous.
It had started normally enough. Arising betimes, as Samuel Pepys might have said, I hit the button on the coffee maker and went to what, in moments of euphoria, I refer to as my office. It’s actually the bit of space to the left of the deep end of the grand piano – our cottage is very small.
Opening up my mailbox, there they all are. All my old friends from the E-Mail community.
There’s Olga, who says she has seen my profile and would love to get in touch. Says she’s a nice girl which is something of a disappointment but hey ho.
A large number of on-line pharmacies are there promising that, with their help, I can do Olga a lot of good.
And of course there’s my old mate, Dr. Bango Obango, a high mucka mucka in the Central Bank of Nigeria who has been wanting my banking details for yonks so he can send me several million of whatever currency it is that they use in Nigeria. I’m embarrassed that I haven’t obliged him, so I’ve sent the banking details of one of my defaulting clients instead. It’s the least I can do.
There were a few E-mails demanding my attention but before I could respond, the connection went dead.
For a moment I was non-plussed.
There was I, cut off from the civilised world and even Great Britain.
Of course, there was quite a lot of work that I could have been getting on with but, without Internet connections, it all seemed a bit pointless.
So I went and sat in the garden and read up on some notes. Then I took a nap. It was all rather pleasant.
Alexander Selkirk must have felt much the same way as he watched his ship disappear over the horizon. It was a lot more peaceful without all those rowdy sailors.
And then my Man (actually woman) Friday arrived with a lunch of baguette, pate and a bottle of wine.
As the geeks had still not been able to splice the bits of wire together, I settled down to a quiet afternoon of contemplation.
And it occurred to me that former captains of industry had managed quite well without our ‘must have’ technology.
Take Isambard Kingdom Brunel for instance. He never even looked at the Internet and look what he accomplished without Cad Cam, mobile phones and the like. He even did most of his travelling on horseback which, I suppose, would have been quicker than using today’s public transport.
But he didn’t have to waste his time sitting at a computer.
So, having ruminated on this, rather as cows do, which is, I suppose, why they are so placid, I’m thinking of going back to the idea of Rowland Hill.
But hang on a minute. That doesn’t seem to be working too well nowadays either.
I bet they’ve been computerised.
It had started normally enough. Arising betimes, as Samuel Pepys might have said, I hit the button on the coffee maker and went to what, in moments of euphoria, I refer to as my office. It’s actually the bit of space to the left of the deep end of the grand piano – our cottage is very small.
Opening up my mailbox, there they all are. All my old friends from the E-Mail community.
There’s Olga, who says she has seen my profile and would love to get in touch. Says she’s a nice girl which is something of a disappointment but hey ho.
A large number of on-line pharmacies are there promising that, with their help, I can do Olga a lot of good.
And of course there’s my old mate, Dr. Bango Obango, a high mucka mucka in the Central Bank of Nigeria who has been wanting my banking details for yonks so he can send me several million of whatever currency it is that they use in Nigeria. I’m embarrassed that I haven’t obliged him, so I’ve sent the banking details of one of my defaulting clients instead. It’s the least I can do.
There were a few E-mails demanding my attention but before I could respond, the connection went dead.
For a moment I was non-plussed.
There was I, cut off from the civilised world and even Great Britain.
Of course, there was quite a lot of work that I could have been getting on with but, without Internet connections, it all seemed a bit pointless.
So I went and sat in the garden and read up on some notes. Then I took a nap. It was all rather pleasant.
Alexander Selkirk must have felt much the same way as he watched his ship disappear over the horizon. It was a lot more peaceful without all those rowdy sailors.
And then my Man (actually woman) Friday arrived with a lunch of baguette, pate and a bottle of wine.
As the geeks had still not been able to splice the bits of wire together, I settled down to a quiet afternoon of contemplation.
And it occurred to me that former captains of industry had managed quite well without our ‘must have’ technology.
Take Isambard Kingdom Brunel for instance. He never even looked at the Internet and look what he accomplished without Cad Cam, mobile phones and the like. He even did most of his travelling on horseback which, I suppose, would have been quicker than using today’s public transport.
But he didn’t have to waste his time sitting at a computer.
So, having ruminated on this, rather as cows do, which is, I suppose, why they are so placid, I’m thinking of going back to the idea of Rowland Hill.
But hang on a minute. That doesn’t seem to be working too well nowadays either.
I bet they’ve been computerised.
posted by Diary of a Ghost Writer at 9:17 am
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