Life

Nuala McCann: I'm dusting off my chequebook and going retro - it's safer that way

Nuala McCann

Nuala McCann

Nuala McCann is an Irish News columnist and writes a weekly radio review.

A blizzard of passwords and fingerprints greets anyone using a computer these days
A blizzard of passwords and fingerprints greets anyone using a computer these days A blizzard of passwords and fingerprints greets anyone using a computer these days

WHEN I turn on my new laptop, I feel like I'm clambering onto my horse in a big set of clunky silver armour about to joust with the black knight called t'internet security.

Yes, I am up for the challenge, yes, I have a password manager, but sometimes machine says no.

It tells me I need to go through three different levels of security, it laughs at me for not remembering the name of my first best friend – but was it the real or the imaginary one? – and it blocks me.

It's like standing at the door of a very fancy private club and having a snooty gentleman in a frock coat look down his nose at you.

Damned if I'll take it, but you have to.

"What's your worry?" says my friend. "I keep all of my passwords in a little notebook in the drawer. That way there is no bother."

Surely Burglar Bill will look there first, I tell her. That's the 21st century equivalent of your granny keeping her cash stuffed in a cushion.

But I can see the temptation.

In my defence, I keep all my important stuff carefully locked away on my iPad.

I don't write down my passwords - you never ever should - but as memory serves me not-so-well these days, I rehash my old ones and add a number up to 99.

It works, mostly. But the machine keeps nagging me to change the password.

"This password has appeared on zillions of leaked lists. Are you sure?" it asks.

And the endless appeals for new passwords drive me crazy.

Shouting: "I only have one mother, father, husband, son, date of birth…" has no effect.

So I use my thumb print.

"When I die," I tell our boy who rolls his eyes on cue. He knows all the details including the willow coffin and the cremation.

When I die, I tell him, cut off my thumb.

He raises an eyebrow. He wasn't planning on that.

It makes sense, really. If they up security to include iris recognition, he'll have to pluck out my eye too.

My thumb is the key to opening my iPad and to the Aladdin's Cave of all my worldly goods, such as they are.

My thumb is "Open Sesame" to the Premium Bonds.

I keep hoping.

My sister is a born optimist.

"Some day, Agent Million will be calling at my door," she tells me with such certainty that I'm buying the champagne already.

Personally, I'm making do with the odd £25 that comes my way – a bottle of Prosecco is just as nice.

And I'm trying to take security seriously.

We were brought up polite. So that when the lady rings me and tells me I have a problem with my BT internet hub. I demure politely even though I don't have an internet hub.

"Why did you say 'Thank you' before you put the phone down'" says our boy.

"She was trying to scam you."

"I know, I couldn't help it. It's the nuns' fault," I tell him.

My heart stopped the time I put my details into the TV Licensing scam email – at the very last minute I smelled a rat... but it was oh so near. How could I have done that?

Easily, it seems. I was in a hurry, I had recently changed my bank card, I didn't think.

But the truth is that these scams have become so sophisticated that none of us are safe.

I read about a journalist who found himself being scammed over the phone by a woman.

He hadn't had the nuns' education and used a few swift and cutting words to despatch her.

But 10 minutes later, his phone rang again and a man was on the other end who started telling him off. It was the scammer woman's scamming boss.

He should not have been rude to the woman, said the boss.

"She was trying to scam me," he argued.

Nevertheless, there was no need for his rudeness, said the brass-necked man on the other end of the line.

The cheek of it. But that's the world we live in.

Nowadays I'd rather pickle my eyeballs than click on a link from a delivery person.

I don't click on anything and when HMRC emails, I just whisper "Be still my beating heart" and ignore them.

HSBC texts are the best - why reply to them? I don't have an account.

But I have done laughing at people who keep their spare cash in their cushions.

I'm dusting off my chequebook - remember what that was? I'm going retro. It's definitely safer that way.