“It’s not the tit but the tit who presses the tit.” Anon
Bit of a busy old week, the first after the end of the cricket season. It’s been DIY time – of sorts given my limited abilities – so for those of you unable to access a copy of The Trumpit, here’s a piece from the September edition. For all you silver surfers I am sure this will ring true.
For all you doubters, no fingers were lost during the week.
To me the quote above sums up IT; secretly I envy my Mum who has never shown any interest whatsoever. Many years ago, I bought my parents a laptop, at that time well into their sixties. Having had a keen interest in literature, I thought that my Mum would dive into this new world of information at her fingertips; I might as well have brought a dead body into the house.
Since the moment I plugged it in, she has barely looked at it, remaining dismissive and stoically attached to what our late Editor Bill used to refer to as the “dead tree press”. In stark contrast, the Old Man was instantly hooked and has spent his days since peering into the screen discovering things like eBay and Facebook, if not entirely sure why he ever needed to.
Occasionally, I get called around for IT assistance which is laughable given it was only a year or so since Nokia and I parted company. Still, I can bluff with the best of them though even if I suspect my Mum knows I am talking crap.
Usually when I arrive my Dad is exchanging expletives with his laptop, jabbing several fingers at it, as if eventually it will give in under interrogation. And yet, as we all know, human error tends to trump all others.
On this particular day Bill Gates, Richard Branson and Mr Toshiba were all to blame; how could it be him? My Mum rocked away in her chair in the background, trying to disguise a smile and muttering under her breath “should’ve bloody stuck to fishing…at least I get rid for a day!”
“Fifty bloody times I’ve done what it wants and it’s still not working!” exclaimed the Old Man simultaneously protesting his innocence, Branson’s culpability and demonstrating a certain exaggeration. Solving this would earn me a bonus – a bag of tomatoes – so I cracked on and soon all was well though my release was not forthcoming as my Mum has online banking – not that she knows it.
I’ve tried to explain the benefits of this but she remains steadfastly in possession of her cheque book and the bus timetable. This still drops her off close enough to the surviving bank branch where she can suffer shit service from kids with shiny badges, clipboards and sod all knowledge.
Years ago, I bought her a mobile phone. Inspecting the box as if it were a bomb, she asked “What’s this?” When I explained she replied “I’ve already got one” jabbing a finger to the front room and the faithful landline.
I tried to explain this was for her safety when she was out and about. “Does it shoot people?” she asked, in no small way subtly making the point that the box would never be opened. Undaunted I tried to call her the following day – no response – what did I expect?
“Never heard it!” she protested, rocking away in her chair, trying hard to disguise a knowing grin. I found it towards the back of her bottom drawer, still in its box, unlikely to see the light of day. Once again, I knew who was Boss.
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