Video Killed The Radio Star

It’s official. I’m old. Over the Christmas period I got a new mobile telephone and despite my best efforts, I failed in setting it up. I did pretty well, importing all my contacts and applications, but no matter what I tried I couldn’t get the damn thing connected to the internet. I was partially vindicated in that when I took it to the Carphone Warehouse, from where I bought the SIM card, in order for a teenager to sort it all out for me, that they were also unable to connect me to the internet. In the end I had to resort to ringing Vodafone (other mobile telephony providers are available) to help me.

And then there was the Firestick incident this week. Friends of ours gave it to us as a gift to thank us for all the stuff we had given them for their new-born twins. I’ve commented before on the generosity of our friends who have children (all boys) who are slightly older than Arthur and Henry and I lost my man cave up in the converted loft room months ago with all the incoming hand-me-downs. We have boxes of clothes and shoes taking us through the next three years. Getting rid of several van loads of clothes and toys was a blessing, not something we needed thanking for. But appreciated we were, and the Firestick was a thing of beauty; a gadget for me to play with. Man like gadget!

Once it was all plugged in and ready to go, I realised I had no clue how to find HDMI source on the television by using the remote control. Or any other method. I bought the telly only a few months ago – it’s one of these smart TVs that works off the internet, magic and witchcraft (but not off the aerial if there is a strong wind or a bit of rain, apparently).

None of the buttons on the remote for this new television have anything so obvious as the word “source” next to them, but instead rely on hieroglyphics that no one over the age of about 20 can understand. Even Mrs Aitchworld, a veritable youth at seven years my junior, was none the wiser. I eventually considered doing that most unmanly of things and reading the manual. I resisted to the best of my ability, but ultimately, in the wee small hours, I capitulated and dug out the manual for the TV in search of the solution.

Since I am using computers less and less, I consider my eyesight to have improved back to the levels it was at during my early twenties and in light of this I stopped wearing my glasses a couple of years ago. However, I may have been a bit premature in this assertion because I couldn’t actually read the manual. I don’t usually have trouble reading small print and assumed that the cheap paper the manual was printed on had caused the ink to bleed and therefore appear blurred.

Still, it played on my mind and while I was in Primark on a recent shopping trip to Manchester, waiting for Mrs Aitchworld to try on some clobber, I found myself stood next to a display rack of reading glasses. I was distraught to find, when I tried some on, they made print very much clearer.

Of course the natural thing to do when I got home was to google these symptoms and after many hours of research and self-diagnosis the verdict is that I’m going blind. This is going to be a bit of a problem for me because I’m not altogether keen on dogs; I will still throw away shoes that I have trod in a dog turd whilst wearing, although I coped admirably the other week (and ever since)when Arthur managed to tread in one and Mrs Aitchworld cleaned them up – I have been able to handle them without having to bin them. Given the rate at which the boys are growing at the moment, I didn’t expect them to still fit him for more than a few more days. So if a guide dog is out of the question, I will have to train the cats to take me for walks and I’m pretty sure that won’t end well.

All is not lost because I am confident that pretty soon Arthur and Henry will be able to sort this kind of stuff out for me. They are already starting to get the hang of an iPhone (other smartphones are available) and know which button to press in order to cut me off when they have had enough of my Facetime presence. At first it was attributed to clumsiness and them pressing the red button in error, but as time passes it is becoming apparent that it is their way of saying “I’m getting bored of you now, dickhead”.

We have even downloaded a couple of child oriented applications to keep them distracted while they are in the trolley going round Aldi to keep them out of the stock room and super specials aisles. They are getting the hang of them too and each action towards the phone is becoming more considered, more planned. It’s amazing to think that an iPhone to Arthur and Henry will probably be like a Nokia 3310 was to me when I first got one. It was a thing of wonder then, but very soon became outdated, just like smartphones will, once we all have Bluetooth and Wi-Fi in our heads as standard. I’m wondering if google glasses will help my reading issues…

I was an early adopter of the mobile telephone and had one long before everyone had one. And I always upgraded too, so an actual Nokia 3310 came to me pretty much upon release and I was suddenly able to send text messages; it was a revelation.

However, I hardly knew anyone else with a mobile telephone, let alone people who could actually receive an SMS, so it was a moot point really. There was one person, an ex-girlfriend who had SMS capability, but she had gone out for a bottle of wine several months earlier and never returned (it was okay; I had some beers in), so I doubt she would have been particularly pleased to have received a message saying “Zinfandel please” just because I’d upgraded my phone. Or “Znfndl plz”, as I believe would have been the correct way of abbreviating things in those days.

I have always spelt everything in full and punctuated correctly, so my text messages always arrived with the recipient in batches of several at a time. I still maintain this practice, but fortunately you are allowed more characters in a message now.This is probably one of the reasons I don’t get on particularly well with Twitter for me to get my point across would take many tweets and interest would wane after the first few. Not that anyone really follows me anyway.

Of course, then picture messages came along, and shortly afterwards technology gathered such pace that things like WhatChat and SnapApp came along, as did various other messaging applications to confuse the hell out of anyone who just wants to ask if a mate is coming out for a pint. And it is this similarity that brings me back to how quickly the twins are developing.

I come back to this theme time and again, but as a parent I am finding myself looking forward to the next development and in doing so it is like I am not appreciating the moment. I so desperately want Arthur and Henry to remain babies (or at the very most toddlers) for as long as is possible, but at the same time, I’ve got a Google Chromecast that I unplugged from the television a few months ago and I could do with setting it all up again but unfortunately I’ve lost the manual. Not that it would be any good even if I did have it, because I wouldn’t be able to read it anyway. So as much as I want the boys to remain as young as possible for as long as possible, I could really do with their help on this! At the current rate of change, I reckon I could have it sorted by summer.