I’m not really a ‘pub’ person. I love a glass of wine or three, and an occasional pint of beer; but I’m not a regular at our local pub. One of the reasons for that is, probably, that it’s a half hour walk away in this sodden part of Cumbria, and the journey usually involves a walk in total darkness to get home. Not that such a stroll is a problem in itself, just that when you’re faced with that versus a glass of wine at home in the warm comfort and your favourite and deeply understanding settee, well, you get my drift…
But, increasingly, I miss the sort of ‘chaps’ camaraderie that used to grace the occasional visit to various pubs in my former, gainfully employed years. Being dropped off for a ‘Sesh’ (our word for a drinking session) was one of the occasional highlights of the year – particularly in the run-up to Christmas.
I’m not complaining – I love my new life as a writer and one of the Silent Eye’s directors, and we certainly make up for any interim lack of camaraderie when the group of us who run the School get together for one of our workshops. Everyone’s invited of course, the more the merrier…
But back to the chaps thing. This Christmas, whose memory is now fading so fast into fuzzy history, we had a lovely meal with three friends. One was my wife’s sister, Joanne, the other two, Tony and Mary, were family friends of the two sisters and have recently got back in touch. Tony is now retired but spent his working life in complex parts of the world delivering amazingly complex civil engineering projects with scant resources. He’s my sort of person, and has the sort of gritty humour born of the constant facing of such adversity.
Ensconced in our ‘local’ pub, The Strickland Arms, for a pre-Christmas meal, he and I, surrounded by the gentle conversation of the ladies, began to actually talk, rather than just passing the time in pleasantries. Within an astonishing hour, we were deep in the nature of the human psyche, both amazed that the other shared the same pathways of conclusions and wonderings. Stopping for the essential lubrication of a second pint of bitter, we then ventured into our favourite amusing ‘pet-hates’.
And that’s when the fickle finger surfaced.
I had better explain… I am a self-confessed techno-lover. I have always gained deep pleasure and satisfaction from the creative power endowed by a personal computer. I count myself blessed to be incarnated into a generation which has seen the capability of such devices evolve from the humble word processor, to the sort of creative power offered by modern image and presentation software. As an amateur photographer, what I can do with a simple image taken on my iPhone astonishes me.
My techno-armoury includes an Apple Mac, an Apple iPhone and a Retina-screened iPad. I am lucky to have such devices at my disposal. Conscious of this, I do my best to share the fruits of their power with anyone interesting in my musings… It’s a kind of duty, and a very pleasant one.
But I have an issue… and increasingly, it’s driving me crazy; as part two of our impromptu sesh at the pub went on to consider.
My MacBook has one of the best finger-tracking devices I’ve ever used. I’ve stopped using a mouse at all – and I never thought I’d say that- because the exactness of using the MacBook’s trackpad is so delightful… and that extends to doing drawings and editing photos as well. So I know what Apple can do, given the will.
But here’s the rub. I bought my iPad so that I would always have a smart and creative device with me when I travel. The iPad is a leading soldier in the army of ‘persuaders’ that are trying to get us away from conventional laptops… and it just doesn’t hack it. Don’t get me wrong, I love browsing on my iPad, it’s brilliant at it, with its high-res screen and ability to sit on your knee with that cup of coffee… but, and it’s a big but, the finger is a rubbish replacement for a mouse… or a trackpad for that matter.
I’ve lost track of the hours I’ve wasted trying to work complex programs that have promised an ‘identical experience’ of the same program that I know and love on my desktop or laptop devices. Identical experience – rubbish! And the worst things is that it’s not the program’s fault, its the useless accuracy of the finger-pointing device in the core operating system.
Get me a small plane and a good pilot and I’ll write it in the sky over Cupertino, “Listen Apple, the rush to dumb down the ‘device’ is leaving behind all those fans who love you so much…” And it’s not just Apple, of course, all the major device manufacturers are moving to ‘finger’ devices in the mistaken belief that you can do the same job on them. Bollocks… Take away our ‘mouses’ at your peril…
The core problem is that the finger is a hundred times wider than the tip of a mouse or trackpad-driven cursor. And there’s no getting round that as far as I know. When I want large scale pointing, I’m happy with my finger tip; when I want accuracy, I want something much more precise…
So come on, Apple; and the rest of you – start shipping optional ‘trackpads’ with our dumbed-down technology and take us out of this finger-pointed misery.
This more of less was the course of the conversation Tony and I had, over the course of the next beer or two, while the ladies, I have to say, seemed glad to be out of it… funny that.
So, my new friend and I have decided that, once a month, I will get on a southbound train at Oxenholme and get off, twelve minutes later, at Lancaster, not far from where he lives. He is tasked with finding an old-fashioned pub, one with no machines ringing bells at what’s left of people’s minds, and graced with a log fire… There, in our new-found snug, we will put to rights the ills of the world, safe in the pleasant glow of a good beer or two. My understanding wife has offered to collect me off the train as long as I can still speak.
It may form the stuff of an occasional ‘curmudgeon’s diary’. I think I’ll call it ‘Sodden Tales..”
I’ll bring the finger and we can decide where to point it on arrival.