Ravings fromthe Shell

Yesterday afternoon (Jan 27) I followed the highly-anticipated launch of the new Apple device online by following several of the live blogs from the event. Due to the secrecy surrounding the event (which all helps the hype) not even the name of the device was known. iTablet, iSlate were several of the suggestions.

And then it was revealed – iPad. Er, excuse me, what did you call it? Cue instant sniggering from a billion male teenage boys (and plenty of men and women old enough to know better). To this ancient teenager, the first thing that popped into his head was female sanitary products, and clearly I wasn’t alone as the twittersphere lit up with jokes on the subject, and even a cursory google search threw up this item from quite a few years back.

They didn’t help it out with the line about the battery life: 1 Month on Standby. Standby for what?

Now, to recover from an unfortunate name it is going to have to be a tremendous product right? Well I couldn’t help feel, whilst watching the launch that we were waiting for a zap-pow! moment when the iPad did something really amazing. But all it did was do some of the things a laptop does and some of the things an iPhone does and some of the things an iTouch does and some of the things an iPod does. It is nearly as big as a laptop, and a lot bigger than the other devices. If I had one, I’d quickly come to a point where I’d think “If only it was more like a laptop – more like a Macbook Air, in fact”.

Apparently Apple see it being used on the couch by the whole family. A whole family includes kids and have you noticed how roughly kids treat things? That lovely screen all smeared with finger prints and sweets, the case cracked because eldest couldn’t beat youngests’ best score?

OK, like all recent Apple products it looks super cool, and I’m sure there will be a large number of early adopters, but me, I’ll wait for version 3 when it will be, well, more like a laptop.

Prologue: First week of August, 1997. Kindrogan Field Studies Centre near Pitlochry, Scotland. Open University Summer School for S339, “Thermal and Tectonic Processes of the Lithosphere”

Unlike most OU summer schools which take place on University campuses (campii?) this one was based at Kindrogan Field Studies Centre. It’s remote location made it a particularly intimate week and in the evenings we had to make our own entertainment, which was assisted by (a) The Bar and (b) the “carry-outs” that we purchased each day on the way back from studying various localities.

Since there was a Welshman in the group (Richard Owen) singing became a large part of the night’s entertainment. “What we need boys, is a song to start every one off. A song that everyone knows. A song like Sloop John B”. And that is how I came to use my unique vocal talents in the Kindrogan Choir. Someone wrote down the words as best they could remember them, and arrangement was created and rehearsed, and then the performance was unleashed on our captive audience. The names of many participants have been washed from my mind in the years since, some remain. Jane of the lovely eyes from Skegness, Jacqui from Cumbria, Mike apparently a mysterious Squadron Leader from Towcester, Keith from the centre of the Universe, near Leeds and John who turned out to live not far from me.

Some nights we’d just carry on till dawn, even ending up in the Grave Yard up the hill behind the old hunting lodge that housed the Centre. The lecturers were not immune from all this debauchery, and we had distinguished professors of geology, such as the effortlessly languid Chris Hawkesworth standing on tables singing “Up On Sunny Mountain” or sharing a carry-out in the Cemetery. “Look, if I ask any questions today, the answer will be ‘Kyanite’ “. We’d get some recovery time as the elderly coach ground its way through the highlands, then a dose of fresh air and midges as we stumbled through the heather in search of a bit of metamorphics.

Continue reading ‘Bimbling towards the Big One: The West Highland Way’

Amy Winehouse famously didn’t want to go to Rehab. I have been rather impatiently waiting to go to Rehab. When the cast came off my leg in December the Registrar prescribed a trip to a Physiotherapist for a dose of rehabilitation on the joints, muscles and ligaments that make up my legendary leg end (can you see what I did there?)

Unfortunately some people choose the end of December to “celebrate” a holy day belonging to a religion that most of them don’t believe in, so the first available date for the physiotherapy was three weeks after the removal of the cast. I had been given no guidance other than “you can put weight on it now” and “don’t drive until you’ve seen the Physio”, so over the holiday period I stumbled around on my crutches tentatively increasing the amount of hobbling/shuffling/walking I could manage. I didn’t know how much I could do without aggravating the problem. The leg was still very swollen, and I was quite dismayed at how difficult it was when the cast had come off.

Then the weather decided to intervene. We had a bit of snow, so the hospital transport service went into emergency-only mode and canceled my transport to the first appointment on 7th January (3 weeks after leg liberation day). The appointment was re-booked for the 13th, but on the night of the 12th/13th we had another fall of the white stuff, and so another delay until the 22nd. Not wishing to take any risks I had phoned the transport service on the 21st to check they had the booking, so that on the appointed day I was ready, two hours before the appointment time. Needless to say I need not have been so punctual as the transport arrived about 20 minutes before the appointment time, I was their only passenger and we arrived at the hospital with oodles of time to spare. The driver even took me round the back and showed me the secret short way to the Physio Department.

This all meant that by the time I checked in with reception (and due to warping of space-time) I was actually 30 minutes early*. The department didn’t seem particularly busy, and there were only a couple of other people waiting, and I actually got seen ten minutes ahead of schedule. After answering all the usual questions “No I’m not on any medication, don’t have high blood pressure (despite the evidence of my eye)

…etc”, it was socks off and roll up the trousers for the cute, short blond Physio with the slight South Afrikan accint. “Hmm it is a bit swollen” she said, looking at my ankle, and proceeded to demonstrate how I could massage it. Next she produced what I can only describe as a rubber bandana stolen from a fetish fair, and we practiced a couple of exercises with it.

A bit of advice that is was safe to walk for 10-15 minutes each day, and to gradually extend the walking, but not to drive yet followed by a quick hobble up and down the corridor, and that was it. “Give this card to reception and see you in a couple of weeks when we’ll do some work in the gym”. I took the long route back to the main reception area, introduced myself to the girl at the Transport desk and within five minutes was being conveyed home by the driver who had taken me home on my initial discharge, when I was still in a cast (although she had significantly changed her hair colour since November).

At least I now know that I’m not going to do any damage by bimbling around, but I’m rather frustrated by not being able to drive. Next appointment with the consultant is scheduled for next Friday (barring a return of the white stuff).

* The Physiotherapy department are skeptical of the punctuality of the Transport department, so they arrange transport to deliver their patients early

In a world of spin, lies and moral ambiguity, who can we trust? Who will give us reliable information and an honest opinion?

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