Of broom pods, technology, and speed

After a week of glorious sunshine and pleasing photos, why do I post this pic of black broom pods? Ok - it's because it suits my mood at the moment. The bush in question is in Ardentinny, on one of my favourite paths through the fields by the shore, leading to the beach. Today, there was a notice warning that the brambles (not yet ripe) should not be picked because chemical spraying was in progress. The path was lined with the dead remains of plants that had, admittedly, been encroaching on the narrow track, but surely they could have used a strimmer? It looked so miserable ...

And then we passed the sign that says "No Camping. No fires." We came to the beach. I expected people - it's Saturday, and the weather all week has been glorious. But there were tents - at least half a dozen of them - and at least two fires, and noisy groups already getting wellied into the sauce. A north-east wind was blowing, the clouds were hanging on the hills just thickly enough to dim the sunshine that I knew was shining hotly in my own garden. It was depressing and horrid and we came straight home again. Black broom pods ruled.

And then one of these delightful technology moments came just in time to lift my mood. I had a video chat with Jurij, a musician in St Petersburg - someone I've known for ten years or so, but have never Skyped until today. The ability to see someone while you talk to them makes communication so much more effective than either emails or voice chat - if you can speak a bit of a foreign language, ask yourself how well you write it - and we were able to clear up some difficulties in arranging a concert in Dunoon (Jurij directs Voskresenije, the vocal ensemble who will soon be back touring the UK) with great good humour.

That, and Mo Farah's Olympic triumph, banished the black pod mood. On the other hand, the two events meant that a blog post begun 5 hours ago is now being finished at midnight. And I'm aware it's a tad scrappy. But at least I'm not mad any more. Let not the sun go down on your black pod moments ...

Health update on a Mac

The blog's gone a bit quiet recently, I know. Partly it's been my need to keep up with my father's Letters from the Past - there have been quite a few recently, and I'm trying to keep them to the dates on which they were written 66 years ago. Soon he will go on leave to attend my birth, and the strange journey will be over. There are no letters kept from the time after that - I suspect my mother my have had her hands full in the months till my father's demobilisation, and the wonderfully evocative letters which the ones I have hint at perhaps dried up - or were replaced by phone calls. I don't know, but I shall miss them.

But another reason for my unblogging is the fact that my desktop iMac has ... well, died. It's been staggering a bit for some weeks now, but I was managing to cajole it along with frequent emptying of the cache and so on. Yesterday, however, it turned up its toes and wouldn't let me past the sign-in stage. It's going to the doctor in the Apple Store this week - just in time before my Apple Care runs out - and I shall be able to report on the experience.

Meanwhile I am relying on the laptop I bought (a PowerBook G4) when I retired six years ago. This blog began on the laptop, and I used to feel totally at home on it. Now, however, the screen feels small and dim and the angle on my desk is all wrong (though it is crammed in front of the iMac) and I keep reaching for a mouse. The fan keeps whirring alarmingly, and as I type I'm aware that what is on the screen isn't keeping up with my flying fingers. The various apps tend to be out of date and there are too many things I can't use. Worst of all, I had promised myself that this would be the week I would do my tax return. Last year's stuff is all ... on the sick machine. I can't bear to start on this one. I shall procrastinate further.

And before you ask: yes, it's all backed up.

Dogged?

Just back from Oban and about to crawl into bed - but first, a moment of reflection. My efforts yesterday seemed to be fraught with gremlins before I even came to the point - a hearing aid which played a silly tune throughout while its owner remained blissfully unaware, a pneumatic drill starting up outside. And then there was the unwillingness to listen to a whole point when I happened to hit on a raw nerve. It reminded me of the kind of pupil who is so anxious that their point will be heard that they strain every nerve into putting up their hand eagerly and in doing so shut out everything but their own concern - so that they hear nothing beyond the trigger-point. It seems worse, somehow, in adults - though I found some amusement in treating the recalcitrant like school children by telling a couple to stop blethering. (Thanks, Hugh, for playing along!)

And the end result? It seems from the responses after the group sessions that there is in fact a willingness to learn, a desire for suitable training and an interest in identifying suitable technology for specific purposes. Having read Kimberly's Google notes, I feel more hopeful - though as I picked up the glossy magazine that I had hoped would be replaced by a PDF file I couldn't help reflecting on how far we still have to go.

A footnote to the occasion was that our host for the night felt compelled to offer hospitality to a 14 stone St Bernard called Bailey, who would otherwise have spent a very cold night in his owner's car. He has now recovered from the effects of having said Bailey sit on his feet.

The tech.

This is the tech on show at the synod this year. I made a plea earlier today for some up to date training in technology for the church, the kind of stuff LTS does for secular education. There was a resounding silence. But one of the techies, ex LTS, has just thanked me - and would be available. Someone was listening!