In a world drowning in conspiracy theories, I’ve decided to throw my own into the mix. So, in keeping with best practice of conspiracy theorists, with no consideration or fact-checking, I’m now certain that most electrical products manufactured today have an obsolescence date built in.
There was a time when white goods were handed down through the generations after a multitude of minor fixes. Today anything electrical is guaranteed to die a matter of weeks after the manufacturer’s warranty has lapsed. Is this a coincidence? I think not.
As a boy, I watched an ancient portable black and white television long after its manufacturer had gone out of business; the thing may still be working somewhere as a cherished technological relic.
My present bout of annoyance is due to the tortuous task of setting up a new laptop. Where once a computer would last six years this is my third laptop in six years. Back in the day, we didn’t need the most up-to-date graphics or memory chips as our machines predated the internet and were, in essence, glorified word processors.
The new laptop on which I’m typing this column has enough processing power for a small city yet here I am, using it as… a glorified word processor. I can see the obvious answer to my predicament - buy a word processor instead of this state-of-the-art computer. But there was no chance of me following that logical path due to my addiction to the latest and most up-to-date technology.
As our lives move onto ‘the cloud’ so our dependence on technology grows, we now need a computer for mundane tasks such as viewing holiday photographs or communicating with family and friends.
Over the years, I attempted to curtail my technology habit by only updating my computer when absolutely necessary. This worked until software updates from manufacturers burned through computer batteries or were so processor-hungry as to bring the machine to a grinding halt, and so I find myself trapped in a vicious cycle of punitive computer purchases.
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Of course, some of my angst isn’t the fault of technology but is down to my advancing years. As a technophile, I’ve prided myself on being at the cusp of new hardware and software advances. I was the idiot who paid a fortune for one of the first personal digital assistants (PDAs) in the shape of a little grey brick called a Psion. I knew my way around Microsoft Office long before it reached any classroom and had hooked onto the internet when it first appeared.
None of this saved me, however, from two torturous hours as I tried in vain to link my Bluetooth keyboard and mouse to the new laptop. After searching the web, I finally hit on the answer which I then remembered was the same answer I’d hit on a couple of years ago trying to sort out the same problem.
I’m at an age that when I experience déjà vu, it’s more likely to instead be my poor memory. Aged 61, apart from space travel or deep-sea diving, I’ve done most of what the world has to offer, so no wonder I occasionally get a feeling of having previously lived some experience.
Sitting in front of a blank computer screen is a regular déjà vu moment, usually occurring every week as I begin to write this column. I comfort myself that Shakespeare didn’t need a computer having penned 39 plays and 154 sonnets with only a pot of ink and a quill made from a swan feather; and before you shout it, I know I’m no Shakespeare.
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Was anyone surprised that Boris Johnson nominated his dad for a knighthood? I mean, he’s already stacked the upper house with one of his brothers and just about anyone who offered to buy him a pint or loan him a few quid.
Boris Johnson is still a lightweight when it comes to nepotism compared with King Charles who was bequeathed a kingdom by his late mother, for, after all, what is monarchy but the very definition of nepotism? And that, I’m certain, scuppers my chance of ever being offered a peerage. Not that I would accept, though I’d enjoy telling him where to stuff it.
