The PC
Nobody Minds
Mar 6th
As I have said before on more than one occasion, I have spent a lot of the last 20 years or so setting up/designing/maintaining and being involved in a series of online projects themed around my boarding school and the young gentlemen, such as myself, who went there. A labour of love it may have been but a labour it was nonetheless. I don’t regret any of it but as some of you reading this may know, setting up things for others to use or enjoy online can be an empty business.
Inspiration & The Reality Gap
Firstly, you can’t do it quickly. You many have a brilliant idea, one you may visualize with crystal clarity in your head but if you ask any sort of creative person – say an author (ahem) – they will all agree that at this stage, you project is approximately 2% complete. This is often completely at odds with your own perceptions but I would have to throw my hat into the ring and agree with them. Many is the time I have been sitting at work or driving home in the car, when an absolute corker of an idea has filled my head, just above the nose. At this point, shamefully, my gas pedal hits the floor and speedbumps become a thing of skant concern. By the time I reach the end of my gravel driveway, bound up the front steps and allow my manservant to welcome me into the foyer of the family pile, the fire of inspiration is still burning fiercely. Hives removes my coat, the cat drops my slippers at my feet and I power up the PC. The harsh white glow of the screen then slaps some sense into me and most of the enthusiasm fades like…well, like a sentence without an end.
For a lot of the time, that’s exactly what happens. During the year long gap in which I didn’t blog, that happened about 3 times a week. Now and again, it still happens. You just have to live with it. Now that the blog is up and running again, all I have to do is type and as you will have hopefully have seen, I manage it much more often. Thanks to Evernote, I don’t tend to drive home like a lunatic anymore either. If anyone ever solves the problems or fat fingers and a small touch screem, it will indeed be a perfect world.
If it ever becomes possible to forget that GTA Vice City and it’s tempting streets exist, then that will also be of great help to me.
I’ve drifted again haven’t I?
Well, what I am trying to say is that the first hurdle to creating online wonderment is that its a f**k of a lot of work, even to do it slightly well. To do it very well, you have to be 9 people or 1 genius. I fit into neither camp. I take my time, get frustrated, Google a lot and copy other people. Don’t look so shocked. I suspect I am not alone.
The one hurdle I sometimes find it hardest to get over, is that some things are beyond me. This usually presents itself when I have spent an afternoon looking for inspiration. Common places for this are…actually going to stay secret, suffice to say there are sights and technical achievements to boggle the mind. Now, I can use Photoshop but its a huge oil-burning pig of a program. The manual for version 5 (the last one I read) might as well have been written in Latin. What the online help file for Photoshop CS5 must be like, I can only imagine. I usually use Fireworks to create my graphics, but even that is largely a closed book to me. I do what I can and mostly what I need to do. It’s partly why I have never done this sort of thing professionally. I couldn’t stand the idea of being asked to do something I didn’t know how to do. Also, I use about 10% of Dreamweaver when coding HTML. I suspect I am not alone in this either.
Finally, you have to keep it alive. I know this to my cost and you ignore this key ingredient in your online project at your peril. It’s hard to be specific about anything other than my own stuff, but take this blog entry for example; once posted and I have Tweeted a notice of it’s newness to about 100 followers and put it on my Facebook page for 400 friends to see, I will get about 20 hits. Tomorrow, when people get to work, I’ll get about the same amount again. This week, I might make 100 hits. This is unique visitors and doesn’t include return visits. If I make no post next week, I might get another 10 hits and after that, maybe 5 a week until I post again. I can promise you one thing. No one is looking to advertise on my site. Unless you have invented iPlayer or iTunes (I think I see a pattern), a lot of people are not going to give a monkeys about what you have done. You could be really, really lucky like me and have a target audience, some of you whom like what you have done but mostly, you will be ignored. It’s a tough lesson, but all the hit counters and spinning visitor globes will not bring people to your site in droves.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. I once mentioned Gillian Anderson, Clint Eastwood and Pamela Anderson in a blog post (as a test) and got almost 300 hits in a week. This sort of experiment is frowned upon and the Google bots will soon find you out, so don’t try it (unless you are blogging about famous celebrities of the 80s or course). Quite what would happen if I mention Justin Bieber, Dancing On Ice, Lindsey Lohan or Red Nose Day, I can only imagine. Oops.
The one thing I find hard to babble on about is…well, babbling on. You have to be able to write a bit; I can – write a bit that is – but I don’t do it very well, not on paper or screen at least. Most of us know what to say but either because we haven’t done very much of it since the age of 15 or perhaps because we never could in the first place, we can’t put into words. This is not a huge worry but it’s something you should be aware of. Most of your readers’ brains will work out what you want to say and very few will feel the need to tell you where you have gone wrong. In any case, you will be understood.
So, after struggle, torment, plagerism, manual reading, googing, relaxing, typing, patience, calmness, panic, frustration, desperation, defining your own creative limitation and often going for walk to clear you head, you are done.
Shouting At The World
In a word, don’t bother. I pondered for a while before writing this paragraph and while the first sentence seems a little harsh, it rings true. Perhaps it didn’t 15 years ago when there were dozens of search engines, all eager for your content. Now there is just Google and to a lesser extent, Bing. Google is really the only one that matters and it’s bots will eventually index your online world and show it to the world. Well, they will show it to the world if they enter the right search terms. If they don’t, you webby work might as well be in a bin bag in the shed. Again, harsh but true.
But remember, you have friends – both Facebook and real, tell them and tell everyone on Twitter. That process alone will grab the attention of those who know and love you and who are eager to click a link whilst slurping the Kenco.
Of course, as I said before, I am lucky. My stuff was and is for a largely captive, ready made audience of old school friends. They are brilliant, receptive and sometimes embarrassingly grateful. I feel guilty sometimes because I get frustrated when they don’t use my site exactly the way I intended or because I wish they would contribute more but a swift kick up my own backside soon rids me of this. This swift kick is usually in the form of someone I haven’t spoken to in 20 years suddenly popping up or like this week when a well respected author of online content and the printed page finds the time to join my new forum and enters into a short correspondence.
So, don’t bother shouting. Do it because you want to and because a few other people might like to see what you do. Don’t worry if you don’t work on it for a while and don’t worry that your audience is getting frustrated or thinking less of you for not spending your Sunday afternoon banging away at your PC keyboard. They will still love you when you do come back, no matter how long that is. Go for a walk, go to Vice City or go and sit on someone else’s sofa watching X-Factor, eating chocolate muffins and trying to convince them they will be a great mother.
The more you do, the more you will have to think about and write about and the more likely you will be able to spend an hour typing 1600 words about yourself to no one in particular.
A bit like I have just done.
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Trip, Gravelands, PC & Hole
May 7th
Trip
Look out, I’m back again. No longer got nuddin’. I think it’s safe to say that today I have summin’ at least. In a departure from the normal policy of just reading my old blog posts (admit it bloggers, you do it too), I am going to quite literally add to the number of words in the world.
It’s been a busy old time of late. Last weekend, I went to watch the Army V Navy rugby game at Twickenham with all my friends. That sentence hardly does it justice but I thought I’d get the meat out of the way first. The train tickets arrived in the post a few weeks ago with a mysterious set of instructions. On Friday 2nd May, I jumped on a train for the first time in years and headed for Reading. All I knew was that I would be meeting one of the conspirators and that it would definately not be Sean, as I had spoken to him on the phone earlier and he had been given a different set of instructions. I climbed out at Reading after a moment of blind panic concerning an automatically locking door and an almost 40 year old blogger, only to spot Bruce Whitton. Now several hundred of you will have no idea who that is. He is a big cheese in my school Old Boy network and I had not seen him in over a year. Unfortunately, I was only 99% sure it was him and in that terribly british manner, chose not to shout across the station. I now know it was indeed Bruce. Bugger.
Anyway, what to do with myself? Do I wait for the crowds to clear and let my contact find me or do I go hunting until someone recognises me? I tried the former to no avail and headed up the ramp for the exit. At the top of said ramp stood Sean. One of several moments of confusion and mild dishonesty that would greet me over the next few days.
We drove to what turned out to be Farnborough and the home of big and tall Stan. After some very nice (diabetic friendly) food it was off the the pub and a few hours of intense political debate with Mark, Stan’s brother. At about this point, the joy of not drinking was hammered home. Diet Coke sits on you alright until the 2 or 3 pint. After this, you enter a clarity of thought outside your normal frame of experience. Combine this with the lack of energy caused by low blood sugar and you find yourself very, very, very sober. I am beginning to get used to it but as your increasingly slurry, chums slowly slide under the table, its quite difficult (actually pointless) to explain things to them. Diet Coke no.4 is quite literally the last thing on earth you want. What I did want, and quite desperately it has to be said, was some cheese on toast and a cup of tea. Luckily, it was almost evening pill time and time to head back to Stan’s gaff.
You must realise at this point, I was none the wiser as to how the rest of the weekend would play out. I was going to bed without knowing one thing about Saturday.
Saturday came just a few long hours later and time for another wonderful Stan breakfast. Now at this point, I notice that both Sean and Stan are wearing DYRMS OBA rugby shirts.
Clue one.
Then to Farnborough railway station and a short hop (well, a train ride actually) to Clapham Junction. Here I was thrust head first into The Slug & Pellet, whereupon I met some more friends, old and new. Helen (Hx) & mummy Hx, Heidi (HHx) & Si and Amy. There was much taking of photos and hugging. Unfortunately, it was too soon after breakfast so they ate while I had a Diet Coke. Out came the Army V Navy tickets and the secret was out of the bag. I had never been to Twickenham before and it was a really kind idea of theirs to take me.
The game was no classic but once you are sat down listening to the crowd, it doesn’t matter. It was cool and now I have done it.
Thanks guys.
Gravelands
Whilst staying at Stan’s place. I heard this. Now I have a copy and it is the weirdest, strangest thing I have head in ages. It is also a work of genius. I have also ordered a copy of the previous album.
Lazily, I nicked the following review from Amazon…
“The King is James Brown, an Irish postman. He was discovered singing Elvis songs at a karaoke bar. A record producer had the idea to record the Nirvana song “Come As You Are” with an Elvis impersonator, and he was struck by how much Brown sounded like Elvis. Yes, he actually does sound a lot like Elvis. Anyway, after they recorded the Nirvana song, they decided to record a whole album of songs by dead rockers. Yes, it’s an album of songs by dead people sung by an Elvis impersonator. Somewhat surprisingly, the songs are played “straight”. The songs aren’t played for laughs at all. They are somewhat interesting for the most part, with “Come As You Are” being the best of the lot. If that sounds like something you would be interested in, here it is.”
PC
As of this precise moment. This PC is all mine. It’s taken 4 years but I now own it all. What surprises me the most is that it still flys along. Ok, I stuffed it full of memory, almost 2 terabytes of hard disk space and a 512mb Graphics card over the last few years but this morning I played Crysis with all the settings set to medium. The PC savvy amongst you will realise the impressiveness of this. Others can rot in luddite hell.
Hole
I was going to blog about this alone but having typed for an hour or so, my gloom has lifted. A weird, indefinable gloom. I hope it wasn’t too apparant over the weekend but I tend to swerve from happy to not happy quite distinctly lately. Yesterday I was a bit glum and today I am not. Who knows why?
Oh and its hot. I hate that.
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Mother’s Day, Tavistock & Time Of The Month
Mar 2nd
At last! A day without the need to hunt for decent title. I am not sure what happened to last Sunday’s post, it was obviously not meant to be. I was off work until the Wednesday giving me plenty of time to make up for it but other things got in the way.
Tavistock.
It’s a lovely place, Tavistock. About 15 miles from here, just on the edge of Dartmoor. It’s small town architecture and winding streets are a stark contrast to the violent, depressing, chav-infested sprawl that stands not more than a burning tyre’s throw from my gaff. I am a frequent buyer of spices, pulses and other such diabetic friendly/Slimming World friendly commestibles from either the indoor market or a great little shop on the high street.
Unusually, I was there on Monday this week. Normally, the Rover is berthed in the riverside car park by 9am on Saturday, long before the hordes arrive and in plenty of time to park within easy walking distance of the ticket machine. It’s not the walk to the machine I object to, just the walk to AND from the car. Do you lock the car and walk to the machine or do you risk it and keep one eye on the car while you are gone? Why does it seem so stupid and pointless to walk to a machine, very often in the same direction of your ultimate destination, then walk back to the car, then walk….
…but I digress. It’s Monday and its about 2.40pm. Off work and ferrying Mum and her sister (my auntie) to Tavistock Cottage Hospital so that a consultant can have a poke and a prod at a troubling wound on Mum’s thumb. Her most recent visit to the GP had scared the bejesus out of her and me by suggesting it might be something awful, so I dropped them off and parked up, fully intending to wander into the town, buy some cooking stuff, a newspaper, perhaps a cuppa and then go and pick them up when signalled on the mobile to do so.
Having parked up (see paragraph 2), I wandered into the town, bought some vanilla pods, some sugar-free, 90% cocoa solids chocolate and a newspaper. Then I had a cuppa and read the paper. Then I went back to the car and read my paper some more until the 90p, 1 hour ticked ran out. Exiting the car-park, I drove to a place approximately, 100 yards from the hospital and parked. Yes, parked free of charge. I could hardly believe it, in a space by the side of a road. No double-yellow lines, no single-yellow lines, no “resident’s parking only” sign – nothing. By now it was almost 4pm, but as it was a hospital appointment I was quite prepared for the possibility that she might still be waiting to go in. So I read my paper some more and listened to some more Dale Winton on the radio. 4.15pm and my window-steaming slumber was rudely awoken by my amusing, if alarming, ringtone – the phone ring noise from “24″. Reality dawned and having ascertained that she “would start walking down the hill” (why do they do that?), I duly collected the two smiling and strangely similar ladies.
It turns out all is well and the poorly is just a deep infection, easily vanquished by some strong antibiotics.
The mood driving away from the hospital was much improved on when we arrived, The Dixie Chicks are on the Ipod and sugar-free Sherbet Lemons (everyone suffers for my condition) flow like wine. At the bottom of the hill, I click the indicator on “right” only to be asked “What are you doing?”. It turns out that the only thing that had kept them going whilst sitting in the tiny, sterile waiting room was the thought of Omellette and Chips in a cafe and a walk round the shops.
So once more, there I was parked in the riverside car park in the same berth. I walked to the ticket machine, bought another 90p ticket, walked back to the car, walked to the high street, went into some shops….well, you get the idea.
By now, however, it is gone 4.30pm and in that wonderful, customer-focused way, everyone and everywhere is shutting. Only in this fair land could an establishment, whose sole purpose is to feed people, close just prior to the point in the day when people are getting a bit peckish. We are on the verge of giving up when the smell of roasted coffee pulls us into a side street and we sit down, just the three of us alone at a corner table in a very homely, tea-shop-style establishment. The walls are adorned with blackboards featuring every sort of food the tired shopper could imagine, but then the waitress comes over…
“We are just serving drinks and things from the patisserie at the moment”.
I swear to god, there were 4 members of staff wandering about in that place. It was just before 5pm and they weren’t serving any food. Up and down the land, kitchen tables were groaning under the weight of fish fingers, beans and chips but Kenco and a donut was the best we could hope for. For all I know, they started serving hot food just as everyone began taking after-dinner walks to aid digestion, just in time perhaps to catch that all important “full-up”trade.
Only in England folks.
So, the ladies both had a cream tea and a cappacino and I had a small Earl Gray.
Time Of The Month.
It’s a wonderful time of the month at the moment. Traffic-shaping technology has once more temporarily reduced by broadband speed to that of a milk float. Not a new milk float mind you, one long overdue for a service. I just have to put up with this until a random point either a few days or weeks from now when it the download speed shoots skyward and normality is resumed. This is all part of a “fair use policy” that I unintentionally agreed to many years ago when I neglected to read a lengthy Email with a jeweller’s eyepiece.
I noticed the words “fair use policy” on a mobile phone advert the other day. This provider was offering “unlimited texts” all of the time for £30 a month or something similar but the words “fair use policy” briefly appeared at the bottom. Now, I am no lawyer (like Tony Hancock, I never really bothered) but this kind of thing really gets my goat. I am on an “unlimited” tarriff with my broadband but I notice (now that I finally decided to read the terms and conditions) that “in order to guarantee an acceptable level of service to all customers” my broadband speed “will be reduced after periods of excessive traffic”. This is mysteriously murky and non-specific but no doubt perfectly in keeping with the huge wad of cash I chuck in their direction once a month. I also pay line-rental on telephone line I don’t use just so I can have ADSL.
“Get cable” I hear you cry. Well I would, but for at least two reasons…
1. Virgin won’t run a cable to my house as it would have to run through 4 gardens to get to my little corner.
2. Two words – 13 months of an 18 month contract left.
I notice that Virgin are now offering 32Mb speeds. Whoopie-flipping-do. If this post doesn’t go live until Monday afternoon, at least you will now know why.
Work.
It is Monday tomorrow and my Excel project has come to an end. Tomorrow I am back to the day job and at least 5 days of solid data-entry keying awaits. On the positive side, I will finally catch up on all that music and all those audiobooks I have kept on standby since July 8th last year. Further blogs will no doubt reveal more.
Tap, tap, tap, tap…]]>
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