I'm just coming to terms with the fact that I'm now a real live blogger. Only I have to confess that not for the first time in life I don't really know what I'm doing. Not surprising really for someone who still calls the radio a wireless and who thought a mobile phone was supplied with a couple of hundred miles of cable. And who incidentally still doesn't own one never mind knows how to work the things.
Now I reckon this aversion to modern technology is definitely genetic. My old granny lived to nearly a hundred but was never au fait with the twentieth century. The family clubbed together and bought her a television which she loved. Only she didn't think much of switches so she watched whatever it was tuned in to. Visitors were for changing channels, but as there was only a choice of two, channels that is not visitors she didn't seem to mind. Though the testcards of days long gone confused her somewhat. 'Normal Service will be Resumed as soon as Possible' appearing periodically on the screen would be received with blank incomprehesion. Plus a visit to next door and the question, "My television says its not working at present, is yours the same?" Endearing eccentricity, though not dangerous which unfortunately was not the case of some of grannies' disregard of twentieth century technology.
Her old fireplace range was a delight to behold on a cold winter's day, her cottage homely and inviting; the fire blazing, the oven awesomely hot. The smell of bread and cakes bewitching, the smell of burning tupperware less so. For granny was inclined to place in the oven any cookware that lay to hand. Believe you me, the smell of melting tupperware is disgustingly unique, its removal from oven surfaces would test the capabilities of any space age cleaners that were yet to be invented." This modern stuffs rubbish," declared granny defiantly. The alarm bells began to ring, figuratively speaking. But grannies' next trick suggested imminent alarm bells of a non figurative nature. Plastic buckets are fine for transporting general household rubbish, not so
good for hot coals. One day granny trooped obliviously through the parlour to the yard outside, oblivious of hot coals littering the lino and peg rugs in her wake; the by now empty bottomless bucket lighter by half. Which signalled the end of one black leaded range, mores the pity, but not for many more years one indefatigable old lady who never really willingly left her Victorian youth.
Now I'm sure granny would be proud of me. Fast forward over fifty years and you have an individual just as out of touch with the 21st century. Light switches, yes, I can just about cope with. Car heaters, no, if the wife is not with me I travel frozen in winter, with the windows open in summer. Washing machines, totally incomprehesible, though some would say there's method in the madness there. I'm not allowed a bank card because the card vanishes after three attempts at getting the number right or I lose the silly things anyway causing panic by everyone except me. I reckon I'm laid back. my wife calls it irresponsible. And there must be other people who have put their library books on top of the car and driven off. Modern living, too modern at times for me. The mechanic at the garage tried to explain that the engine in my car is a rail engine. The only rail engine I knew had a chimney on top and numbers on the side which we avidly collected. Which all adds up to an individual somewhat unsuited to the idea of blogging'with talk of tags and posts and html's. And in a way this is where you came in.
Do you remember in the olden days you went to the pictures, now poshly called the cinema. You saw a main film, plus a second film, plus a newsreel and some adverts. Do you remember entering the cinema half way through the main picture. And you watched the rest of the film, plus the second film, then the newsreel and the adverts. Then the main film again until you got to the bit where you came in. Groundhog Day and all that. So off you went, had some chips and five woodbines and still had change out of five bob. Or so I'm told! If you believe that you believe anything.
And the point of all this you might well ask. That is exactly the point. Is there anyone out there. Week two of my blogging career, life, experience, call it what you will. I look expectantly, hopefully for signs of life on planet blog. A friend encourages by posting the first ever comment. Thanks friend. I'm now told I need some sort of counting device to tell me whose visited planet GrumpyOldKen. The talk is of analytics and I glaze over once again. But maybe we are getting there, time will tell. At least there are worse things I could be doing; honestly?
Now I reckon this aversion to modern technology is definitely genetic. My old granny lived to nearly a hundred but was never au fait with the twentieth century. The family clubbed together and bought her a television which she loved. Only she didn't think much of switches so she watched whatever it was tuned in to. Visitors were for changing channels, but as there was only a choice of two, channels that is not visitors she didn't seem to mind. Though the testcards of days long gone confused her somewhat. 'Normal Service will be Resumed as soon as Possible' appearing periodically on the screen would be received with blank incomprehesion. Plus a visit to next door and the question, "My television says its not working at present, is yours the same?" Endearing eccentricity, though not dangerous which unfortunately was not the case of some of grannies' disregard of twentieth century technology.
Her old fireplace range was a delight to behold on a cold winter's day, her cottage homely and inviting; the fire blazing, the oven awesomely hot. The smell of bread and cakes bewitching, the smell of burning tupperware less so. For granny was inclined to place in the oven any cookware that lay to hand. Believe you me, the smell of melting tupperware is disgustingly unique, its removal from oven surfaces would test the capabilities of any space age cleaners that were yet to be invented." This modern stuffs rubbish," declared granny defiantly. The alarm bells began to ring, figuratively speaking. But grannies' next trick suggested imminent alarm bells of a non figurative nature. Plastic buckets are fine for transporting general household rubbish, not so
good for hot coals. One day granny trooped obliviously through the parlour to the yard outside, oblivious of hot coals littering the lino and peg rugs in her wake; the by now empty bottomless bucket lighter by half. Which signalled the end of one black leaded range, mores the pity, but not for many more years one indefatigable old lady who never really willingly left her Victorian youth.
Now I'm sure granny would be proud of me. Fast forward over fifty years and you have an individual just as out of touch with the 21st century. Light switches, yes, I can just about cope with. Car heaters, no, if the wife is not with me I travel frozen in winter, with the windows open in summer. Washing machines, totally incomprehesible, though some would say there's method in the madness there. I'm not allowed a bank card because the card vanishes after three attempts at getting the number right or I lose the silly things anyway causing panic by everyone except me. I reckon I'm laid back. my wife calls it irresponsible. And there must be other people who have put their library books on top of the car and driven off. Modern living, too modern at times for me. The mechanic at the garage tried to explain that the engine in my car is a rail engine. The only rail engine I knew had a chimney on top and numbers on the side which we avidly collected. Which all adds up to an individual somewhat unsuited to the idea of blogging'with talk of tags and posts and html's. And in a way this is where you came in.
Do you remember in the olden days you went to the pictures, now poshly called the cinema. You saw a main film, plus a second film, plus a newsreel and some adverts. Do you remember entering the cinema half way through the main picture. And you watched the rest of the film, plus the second film, then the newsreel and the adverts. Then the main film again until you got to the bit where you came in. Groundhog Day and all that. So off you went, had some chips and five woodbines and still had change out of five bob. Or so I'm told! If you believe that you believe anything.
And the point of all this you might well ask. That is exactly the point. Is there anyone out there. Week two of my blogging career, life, experience, call it what you will. I look expectantly, hopefully for signs of life on planet blog. A friend encourages by posting the first ever comment. Thanks friend. I'm now told I need some sort of counting device to tell me whose visited planet GrumpyOldKen. The talk is of analytics and I glaze over once again. But maybe we are getting there, time will tell. At least there are worse things I could be doing; honestly?
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