Technology, email, the internet – they’re great when they work. When they all go wrong it’s worse than snail mail. I’m presently in the very latter stages of finalising a report with a colleague in wildest Durham. This involves firing lots of files with photos and graphs and maps and tables around by email, all at the last minute (of course). In the old days, it was all a great deal more sedate. I drew maps using my trusty rotring pens and drawing board, left a space on the page and stuck them in with magic tape. Instead of scanned or digital photographs, we got prints made and stuck those in too. It all went by post or even, before SNH decamped northwards, got delivered by hand. No PDFs and DVDs – just lots of photocopying, collating and binding with a huge box of reports as the end product. We didn’t take on quite such large projects with such short deadlines, so it was possible for one person to do the lot. These days, because it’s possible to do more, more is expected and so reports are getting bigger and more complex. I’m not sure that the content is necessarily any better, though.
Anyhow, last week my Durham friend changed ISP and coincidentally stopped receiving any emails from me. Unfortunately we didn’t realise this straight away as nothing bounced back so I’m quite sure he was cursing the lack of output from my end. Now I’m sure I’ve been spammed for some reason at his end. He insists he doesn’t have a spam box anywhere. I have two – one with my virus checker on the PC and another at the online mailbox. Could one of you computer geeks (and I know there are plenty of you out there) suggest where I might tell him to look for his spam box and list of disallowed addresses? Polite answers only please. My molars are in danger of disappearing with the volume of teeth gnashing that is going on. Meanwhile, Yousendit has proved invaluable as the only easy way to get even very small messages to him. Senduit, which Ewan recommended, won’t work as I would need to send the email notification myself.
This next system failure is really quite embarrassing. Sunday morning and the sun was shining with snowdrops and primroses out in the garden. We were just getting ready for the weekly football outing when the phone rang. Nice lady:- “Hello, it’s Port Edgar…” Me:- “Oh
*@*@ dear.” I’d totally forgotten OH and I were both supposed to be on a VHF course, booked months ago. Events have rather overtaken us in the last week or so but yes, it was written on the paper with boxes on on the wall. Perhaps it should have been in Outlook as well. I’m hoping that, if I tuck this away at the end, Ewan won’t read this far.