Filed under In the news

No 5

As dust bales roll through the digital streets of the once dense, sarcasm- and expletive-strewn jungle that is TheBoyEllis Blog, I can confirm that I am still alive. Postaweek2011 appears to have claimed its next victim (I’d imagine there’s been a fair few) after a heady month that was dominated by marriage, associated celebrations and the much-needed holidaying that follows.

Concerned I had little to write about, I thought I may have struck gold last week after our dealings with the housing market; firstly attempting to buy a new house from a builder via a part exchange scheme and, after that predictably failed miserably, deciding to put our house on the market and buy an older place. This sounded like perfect source material, until I realised I could only really muster one sentence describing the whole affair, which is:

No one in the housing market knows what they’re talking about.

And that’s not much of a blog, is it?

Yesterday, however, Apple rolled into town in all its grandiose, questionable statistic chomping glory and delivered the perfect excuse for me to pick up the digital pen once again.

I bought an iPhone 4 pretty much as soon as it came out. Because I’m stupid. But, in my defence, it was brilliant. The ‘retina’ screen looked like those fake photos of screens mobile phone shops place on the handsets in store, such was its vibrancy and crystal, seemingly pixel-free clarity. Only, it wasn’t a photo – it was actually the screen, which you could touch and watch respond. Just as when I first played with an iPhone, it felt like I was in Star Trek (being a child of the 80s, it doesn’t take a huge amount to get me excited).

Then, I, along with the millions who had also flocked to buy the precision engineered slice of metal and glass, attempted to make a phone call. This proved difficult because, as we were to find out, in order to make a successful call without the signal dropping, we had to hold the phone as though we were holding a piece of dog poo against our ear; a kind of ginger, two-fingered affair which ensured we didn’t accidentally create a bridge between two pieces of the ‘ground-breaking’ external antenna which must never be joined. If they become one, the result is a bit like when you cross lightsabre beams, only three million times more boring.

Apple then embarked on an uncharacteristic and creepily frantic attempt to prove that other phones do the exact same thing. Several videos appeared on their website of someone (Mr Jobs?) squeezing various models of Blackberrys and Android phones to prove that they too lose their signal when ‘held incorrectly’. Clearly realising that what they were doing was akin to a drunken ex-boyfriend bashing his genitalia against his former girlfriend’s front door in an attempt to prove it is as adequate as that by which it has been replaced, the videos were soon removed.

Steve Jobs even had to make an unscheduled stage appearance to make sure everyone was aware it was their own fault and not Apple’s. He did so in typically nonchalant style, although he did concede that they’d all had to stay past chucking out time on several occasions to work on a reasonable excuse.

This was all very irritating at first, but we all soon realised that this was an iPhone and, as such, its inadequacies as a phone (there are a number) do not matter. It is shiny and cool and Steve had quite clearly explained why we are all to blame. So, we stopped complaining and carried on playing with iFart.

Now, Apple have a new phone. With so many expecting the number 5 to make an appearance, it is no surprise that a collective sigh was exhaled after Apple simply added the letter ‘S’ to the end of the current product’s name.

Yes, now we have an iPhone 4S. It has the same A5 CPU that powers the iPad 2 and which will provide all of the unplayable first person shooter games on iOS with graphics that modern gaming consoles can only dream of. Web pages will open half a second quicker and the camera will no longer wait until Gaddafi has been captured, tried and beheaded before opening.

Ah, the camera. This is much better.  Once again managing to make fresh titfer out of old hat, 8MP stills and 1080P HD recording were the headlines, but Apple also went into minute detail about how they have achieved near-DSLR quality imagery with the addition of all manner of professional grade components and lenses.

After everyone had woken up, they went on to demonstrate Siri. This was their ‘just one other thing…’ moment. The bit we all wait for at Apple conferences.

Siri basically means you can talk to your phone and it will respond appropriately. Set tasks, reply to messages, find out how lunar space travel works. You name it – literally – and it’ll do it. The demo was, admittedly, very impressive.

Odd, then, that the only reason I can think I want an iPhone 4S is because it will finally allow me to replace my black iPhone 4 with a white one…

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Child’s play

Burning London

I did some daft things when I was a kid.

Sky Tennis ranked pretty highly in the idiotic stakes. The sole aim of a sport we hoped would one day make Olympics, was to hit a tennis ball as high into the air as possible. Simple. I think there may have been some rudimentary scoring involved, and, had this taken part on a tennis court, it could quite easily have been dismissed as nothing but harmless, boyish fun.

Only, Sky Tennis took place in our street, which was a tiny cul-de-sac, littered with cars.

My dad only found out about the existence of this ground-breaking sport recently and wasn’t amused to find out his own car was regularly on the receiving end of a tennis ball that had kissed the ozone layer before plummeting back to earth, its increasing speed rendering it as heavy as Dawn French. We gave up Sky Tennis, thankfully, after my friend suggested we try playing it with a golf ball.

The withdrawal of Sky Tennis left a gaping void which had to be filled. We needed more excitement so, one afternoon, decided to throw various pieces of rubbish, wood and discarded bread into a neighbour’s back garden. This followed a long-running dispute with the neighbour who, from what I can recall, did nothing other than be fat. Suffice to say, he got very cross indeed and gave us a proper telling off. A brief moment of chaos ensued as one particularly supportive parent came rushing to our aid brandishing a golf club. No one got hurt, but lots of naughty words were exchanged, much to our amusement.

This all happened during a fairly brief period. We were perhaps 12-13. Young, inexperienced, inexplicably angry at everything and happy to discover enjoyment in the most destructive of activities. There’s nothing wrong with that and I don’t regret any of it – we were kids.

Listening to Radio 5 Live this week, I’ve heard a worrying number of ‘social commentators’ and youth workers suggesting that the hooded individuals behind this week’s appalling riots were committing such disgusting acts of vandalism and theft because of boredom and a feeling that they ‘don’t fit in with society’.

What unadulterated garbage. I’d wager few of them even know what the word ‘society’ means.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion but, I’m sorry, the people suggesting such things are just wrong.

Everyone in the UK has a chance to make something of their lives, regardless of their background. There’s not a single person out there who can’t get a job of some description. Our political system may be flawed in many ways, but it is not an excuse for disenchantment amongst the younger generation.

No, the people behind the riots are simply very thick little toe rags who haven’t grown up. They haven’t left that 12-13 year-old period that both my friends and I naturally abandoned when we realised you had to earn your own crust in life.

You may well think the word ‘thick’ is a bit harsh, but please remember, these are people who were filmed breaking into a Carpet Right store and stealing carpet samples. They can’t even get looting right.

Still think they’re hard done by? “We’re doin’ this ’cause we wanna show all the rich people that we can do what we want, innit,” said one charming young lady earlier this week, having no doubt assisted in smashing up an independent retailer’s premises moments before. If you can’t be bothered to sit and think about the repercussions of your actions and are stupid enough to believe that every shop owner is a millionaire, you don’t deserve sympathy, or the right to continue breathing.

We possibly made a few dings in our parents’ car bonnets when we were kids, but these little shits are smacking cavernous craters into people’s lives and, most worryingly, don’t appear to have any idea of the damage they’re doing.

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British Smash

Concerned about British Gas’s forthcoming astronomical price rises? Don’t be. Chris Jansen, their MD, is here to help.

“Personally, I’ll help any customer,” he said on TV recently, adjusting his cape and superhero mask. “Email me at chris.jansen@britishgas.co.uk.”

So, I did. Having been with British Gas for over ten years, I felt I deserved at least an explanation as to why my bills are about to be smashed by an 18% price hike. After all, in the ten years they’ve paid someone else to pump gas and electricity into my house, the only offer I’ve had from them is for boiler cover. Or a new boiler. Free of charge, I wondered? No, I’d have to pay for either, but they would send the nice smiley man you see on the adverts who definitely wouldn’t rape me.

In my email, I asked why British Gas deemed it necessary to increase their prices by so much and why they chose now, of all times, to do it. Steer clear of bullshit, I told him. I also highlighted that I’m an EnergySmart customer, which has marginal benefits.

To my surprise, Chris replied and, after a long winded, bullshit-ridden list of excuses about rising fuel costs, recommended I switch to EnergySmart.

Now, forgive me for being pedantic, but if you say you’re going to personally respond to customers, surely you should be true to your word and do just that. What I received was quite clearly a formulated reply. A template knocked up by a copy writer quickly after Chris’ appearance on Sky News. Something he could ask someone else to send to muggles like myself who bothered to get in touch.

To cut a long story short, after threatening to go and live in the woods and thus avoid the need for gas and electric, Chris replied somewhat more personably and offered to stuff my walls with cavity insulation, free of charge. It wasn’t clear whether he’d come round to do it himself, but he was quite insistent that I should take him up on his offer. He also pointed out that I could gain Nectar Points because I’m a British Gas customer. That would be great, if I had a Nectar card and if I actually wanted a pair of one-size-fits-all gloves or a new torch. Mind you, if these price rises continue, I’ll probably be thankful of them.

Lastly, the money shot. He brought out the big guns. Something that would win back my trust. SuperChris would credit my account with £75…

…in nine months time. If I’ve bothered to stay with them.

Thanks.

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A cloudy day in PC world

WWDC 2011 - time for Apple to add a few more things they forgot at the outset

I got drunk a couple of years ago and signed up to MobileMe. It was a sixty day free trial so I figured there was little to lose.

Two months later, I got drunk again and forgot to cancel the subscription. Steve Jobs duly buried his hand into my trouser pocket and took £59. I couldn’t complain or ask for it back because I’d agreed to let him do so sixty days prior. I’d simply forgotten to cancel the trial and had chosen the expiry date to go out for a few beers. iWhoops.

He did the same thing a year later, although that time I was sober and had just resigned myself to the fact that he’d come along and relieve me of my hard earned every twelve months. Disclaimer: as much as I love Apple products, that is not a euphemism.

Then, a further year on, he didn’t bother. Instead, he took to a stage so large it could house three symphony orchestras to proclaim, quite simply, that MobileMe was in fact, utterly, totally, irreversibly shite.

And that was it. No ‘sorry’, or ‘here, have your £118 back’. Just a rare admission from the man who continues to reinvent everything (only to later add the important bits that were missing at the start via a series of updates) that one of their reinventions was ‘not our finest hour’.

I agree. It wasn’t even their finest fifteen minutes. MobileMe was, in principle, a good idea, if not a new one. It was expensive, though, and I am forever asking myself what I’m getting for £59. I have email, calendars and contacts synced between my various devices. I also have a 20GB iDisk which I occasionally put 40KB PDF files on. I used to have all that elsewhere and for free.

Still, MobileMe had cool graphics and the James Bond-like Find My iPhone which even featured a radar for the icon (that’s cool, right? Radars are definitely cool). Obviously, it wouldn’t find your iPhone – it would simply highlight a 20 mile radius in which it might be located. That’s not very useful. I could probably do the same thing myself just by thinking about it. But Find My iPhone had a green radar thing that swung around and beeped. So that made it all fine.

Anyway, I digress. Now we have iCloud which is free and a more rounded solution. But, as cool as it looks, that’s not what I want to talk about.

There was one word which seemed to permeate through the entire keynote address. It wasn’t preceded by an ‘i’, nor was it followed by the interminably irritating ‘it’s just beauuuutiful’ – a phrase Apple has even used to describe an email client’s reading pane.

The word was ‘PC’. Steve Jobs will occasionally point and laugh at this silly little acronym. In the past, he’s received a muffled guffaw from his adoring crowd as he highlights just how rubbish PCs are. How they have missed the point of personal computing entirely and continue to make each of our lives a living hell through their wrong approach to multi-tasking, wrong approach to security, poor hardware and for sleeping with our partners behind our backs.

Obviously, this is nonsense. PCs do work. They might not have the same pretty animations that Mac OS X has mastered so beauuuutifully, but they do a job and will continue to for the vast majority of home and business users on the planet Only, now, we’re being told that we can cut ourselves free of the PC. Snip through the digital umbilical cord, if you like. Apple even had a little icon for this.

Principally, they are referring to iOS 5 which includes the ability to wirelessly sync with iTunes and setup iOS devices without connecting them to a computer.

Of course, by ‘PC’ and the newly coined phrase ‘Post PC’, they are also referring to Macs (we’re not stupid, Steve) and it was encouraging to hear them ‘demote’ all devices – iPads, iPhones, laptops, desktops – to just that: devices. Bits of metal which can be setup independently and display all of the stuff we store on the cloud. Viewing panes into our remote, digital world. Nothing more. I like that.

I predict that, eventually, this will make complex operating systems a thing of the past. As Jobs noted, file systems are cumbersome and difficult for novices to get their heads around, yet they are the one thing we rely on almost every day. Why not let applications and web servers do the work? This premise is put to fantastic use in iOS.

I also predict, as I have noted to people in the past, that OS X will continue to turn into iOS. It’s happening already with Lion; full screen apps and Launchpad (iOS-esque app organisation) were present at yesterday’s demo. Those that need more functionality (and by that, I mean principally developers and bedroom tweakers [no laughing at the back]) will continue to have the tools they need to do their jobs via SDKs. But us, the everyday user? Cutting the link between ourselves, our devices and our desktop machines is just the start. I think the people at Apple gave us quite a significant glance into the future yesterday.

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Thanks for the inspiration, Blatter

Struggling for postaweek2011 inspiration, I considered finally turning to the WordPress Post A Week blog to get the creative juices flowing.

Unfortunately, I picked a day when they suggested I write about my least favourite school teacher. Don’t get me wrong – there’s plenty to go on – but I could only recall one teacher worth writing about and the only story worth recalling was when, having been asked to draw my interpretation of God, I put a monutmental amount of effort into reproducing a pixel-perfect version of the Street Fighter II character, Dhalsim.

If you didn’t spend an inordinate amount of your childhood button-bashing the SNES classic, this is what Dhalsim looks like:

Dhalsim

Suffice to say, she wasn’t particularly impressed. Nor is that a very interesting story (although it has given me an excuse to post a picture of Dhalsim on this blog, which probably won’t happen again).

Thankfully, inspiration came this afternoon from my friend and top football journo, Jefferson Lake (@jeffersonlake). What’s more, the blog it has inspired requires very little effort from me, as just a few words and a picture upload will suffice.

So, here we go.

Go on, pick one.

If a more pointless amount of time by a more pointless collection of people in a more pointless room has ever been spent, I’d like to hear about it.

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It’s ok to be complacent when technology is involved… isn’t it?

Image representing iPhone as depicted in Crunc...

iPhone. What's going on behind that screen?

BOOM! Apple are monitoring your movements. They’re tracking your every move and they possess a detailed history of every place you’ve ever visited with your iPhone.

Headlines similar to the scare-mongering guff above rang out from media outlets across the globe and, while most of the focus was on the sudden ability for spouses to discover where their other halves had been playing away, the presenters, columnists and bloggers all shared one emotion in their reporting of this event: absolute, unadulterated panic.

How could this happen? Why are Apple and Google tracking us? What do they want? Who do they think they are? What right do they have to keep an eye on us at all times? They’ve already taken our money, what more do they want? They don’t need to know I nipped to Tescos last night. Why would they ever need to know that? I only went to buy a ready meal and some washing detergent.  My kids! Oh my GOD, my kids. They know where my kids are all of the time. Why?

Today, Apple released a press statement. It confirmed that the database file discovered by someone friendless enough to find it is, in fact, there for the user’s benefit. It keeps a detailed track of wifi hotspots and mobile phone masts in order to quickly locate the phone at the user’s request. Use the maps app to find your way around unfamiliar towns? This file helps you out. Particularly if you’re indoors or mid-way through a tunnel. The aforementioned hotspots and masts could be hundreds of meters away from the actual phone’s location. Therefore, the database is simply keeping a record of the location of inanimate objects, not you or your bit-on-the-side’s gaff.

Whether you believe them or not (and their admission that “we plan to cease backing up this cache [the database file in question] in a software update coming soon” seems rather conveniently timed) it does prove that the media appear to drop all rules of good, accurate journalism when it comes to a technology story. Why? Because technology is magic and mystical. It’s made by geeks who have brain power capable of knocking the Earth off its axis. It is unknown territory, much like the afterlife and the dark side of the moon. What goes on inside a computer, phone, TV or engine management system is beyond comprehension.

Only, it isn’t. Anything can be explained. Particularly technology, which is so dumb it can only follow instructions made up of 1s and 0s. If these journos had taken just a few moments to investigate ‘locationgate’ a bit further, they might have found the answer before Apple’s announcement today. But no, there has to be a conspiracy. There has to be wrongdoing involved.

Sony’s Playstation Network disaster aside, why don’t we just step back a bit, calm down and wait for the facts, eh, Fleet Street?

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The Royal Wedding – A Confession

Will and Kate“Are you sure you want to come?” the question was followed by a pause, a furrowed brow and, then: “Actually, you could make the drinks and stuff. Ok.”

I felt slightly unwanted, a little bit of a nuisance but, more importantly, like I’d managed to wrangle my way into some kind of secret club. A bit like Fight Club, only without the fighting and on the condition that I play waiter. But that didn’t matter. I was IN.

I hadn’t spent a full year on earth when Charles and Diana married in 1981. I feel I missed out on that one. William and Kate seem like a nice enough couple. There’s a bit of a buzz in the country. I enjoy an event. I’ll admit it…

I want to watch the royal wedding on Friday.

I’m not sure if it’s something to be embarrassed about, being a red-blooded man and all (although the fact I’ll be spending the day in a room full of wedding-obsessed women probably is) and the fact that food and booze is involved has no bearing on my decision, of course.

So, there you go. I’ve said it. I’m a man and I want to watch the royal wedding.

And then visit the pub to man up, talk about football and drink real ale.

Happy St George’s day, incidentally.

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You can swear, Wayne… just be a bit nicer about it

Alex Ferguson has today blasted the FA for pressuring referee Lee Mason into reporting Wayne Rooney for his foul-mouthed rant at a Sky TV camera. According to the eternally obnoxious Scot, they ‘bullied’ Mason into doing it so that they could fine the player.

Quite an ironic surmise coming from one of the biggest bullies in football.

You know what I’d like to see from Ferguson? An admission. Just for once. Even Wayne made one, right after the game (although he quickly contradicted his statement with his ‘they’re out to get me’ comments after the Chelsea match), labelling his tirade inappropriate and not for the ears of the young kids watching.

His manager is pinning everything on the fact that his star player has been banned ‘for swearing’, but he misses the point entirely. It was for the aggression shown, and that is something Rooney needs to curb in most areas of his game. If he’s not swearing at the camera, he’s stomping around the pitch, flinging his arms in the air at any accidentally misplaced pass. I can’t think of a more uninspiring way to play alongside your team mates. Put simply, and in a language he’ll understand, he’s a little shit who needs to grow up. If Ferguson had admitted that the player needs to adjust his attitude a bit and drop the unpleasant high level of aggression, instead of making out that the world is out to get Utd, he’d garner far more respect from people like me.

There’s nothing wrong with aggression or arrogance in sport, but Rooney, his manager and Manchester Utd need to drop their biblical levels of it if they’re ever to have the slightest glimmer of respect from anyone but their fans.

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Flash or no flash, it’s not the problem

So, as speed cameras are turned back on in Oxford, they’re turned off in Northamptonshire.

I’m concerned, but not for the reasons you might think.

Speed cameras are both a nuisance and a welcome sight. I don’t have kids, but if I did, I’d be happy to see one outside the gates of their school. When I’m driving along a deserted country lane and spot a mobile camera peeking out from behind some conveniently-placed bushes, I could quite happily get out of the car and wrap it around the operator’s head.

The former serves a worthwhile purpose, the latter is just jobsworth policing at it’s very worst.

So why am I concerned? The real problem with speed cameras and the fixation government bodies, speed groups and safety campaigners have on them is that they’re focussing entirely on speed, labelling anyone breaching set variations of it a criminal.

By far a more pressing issue which affects most road users on a daily basis – and, I’m sure, creates a great number of accidents – is poor driving.

Poor driving comes in many forms. Travelling well below the speed limit, erratic breaking, curb hugging, the inability to maintain a constant speed, tailgating, ignorance of the need for headlights when it is foggy, arguing with a passenger, having sex with a passenger… The list goes on. None of these things are deemed worthy enough of needing cameras or other special tools for capturing and monitoring them. Why?

Until driving standards and teaching methods improve, the roads are unfortunately going to remain a hazardous place to be. Speed cameras or no speed cameras.

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Now Showing: Sky News Earthquake Coverage

Eamonn Holmes

Eamonn Holmes: I'm not a fan. As you can probably tell.

Slow fades. Booming rumbles and crashes containing enough sub-30hz material to rattle your teeth out. Stark, block graphics and text creating a sense of grandeur. There was even a cliff-hanger…

You would be excused for assuming I was watching the trailer for a new J. J. Abrams epic this morning. But, no, it was an advert for Sky News’ coverage of the earthquake disaster in Japan.

And not just ‘normal’ coverage. Oh, no. ‘Continuous coverage’, spat out the embossed and heavy font covering a black void which had moments before crossfaded footage of floating cars, shipping vessels being crushed like toys and destroyed villages. All that was missing was a few clips of Jason Statham chewing bullets whilst round-house kicking people in the face.

There is something deeply unsettling about Sky News and their insistence on making blockbusters out of real-life disasters. They seem eager – desperate, almost – for something horrific to happen just so they can create a new logo and theme tune to market it.

The fat, eternally nonchalant figure of Eamonn Holmes sat at his desk this morning, leaning casually on one elbow. They’d called in the thirty-sixth ‘expert’ in as many minutes and Eamonn was on a mission to make a nuclear mountain out of a safe zone molehill.

“So, what can you tell me now? What is the current threat to the people of Japan?” he asked the clearly agitated expert who could surely offer little more than some Oxford-educated nuclear predictions. He was in Coventry. That’s quite a long way from Fukushima. I forget his exact answer, but, roughly translated, it was something like, “I can’t answer that question, you idiot. I’m not in Japan.”

What’s more, moments earlier, the aircraft-carrier-sized former GMTV presenter had reluctantly and barely audibly informed us that the radiation levels were, in fact, falling. Great news, no?

No. Good news is most definitely bad news for Mr Murdoch and co. They thrive on drama and hearsay. News isn’t news at Sky unless it is stretched out to the nth degree of speculation.

It’s telling, however, that they appear to have abandoned one of their most irritating disaster coverage rituals: sending out roving reporters to every corner of the disaster zone. They’re nowhere to be seen this time around. As far as I’m aware, you can still enter Japan, so why haven’t they gone?

Ground-breaking news? Ground-breaking cowardice, more like.

My best wishes to all affected by the disaster.

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