The one about getting confused

14 Apr

ImageToday L1 talked me through re-synching my old BlackBerry to get over the problems of the strangely sensitive keyboard on the current one.  I was very tired so it seemed quite normal to be instructed by an eight-year-old on these matters, until I did one of those classic double-takes (“now I see why the dog’s not eaten her tea, she’s got her chicken in her bed.” *PAUSE* “HER CHICKEN??” – although, to be fair, that’s a different story altogether) and realised that it is incredible but yet utterly symptomatic of the relentless march of ever newer technology that eight year olds accept and understand you can reboot a BlackBerry, pause telly and dwell in alternative online worlds as a matter of course.

I, in my mid (being generous) thirties I have to learn how to work this new technology, and figure out how it fits into my world; it isn’t automatically a part of it.  I’m pretty taken by it – I love the new democracy of information sharing and information gathering, how everyone can contribute if they choose to, or not if they don’t; and the way that I can get my information as, when and how I desire it – but it has to be spelt out to me first.

I guess this is why at times I still distrust it, today with farcical consequences.  I’ve always sniggered behind my hand at people who drive into rivers at the behest of the sat nav; today essentially I did the opposite.  Convinced the TomTom was wrong on the whereabouts of the A227, I ignored it and drove on, only to find out that it had, of course, been correct.  It’s about another five miles to the next turn-off on the M20; we swung round the roundabout only to discover that the M20 doesn’t match its exits on either side, and again, had we followed as Tom instructed, we would have got around that, but we didn’t.  It was a nice 20-mile jaunt deeper into Kent countryside; we drove home and walked the dog in our very own country park, just up the road, instead.


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