What about Windows

So, everybody’s excited for Windows 10. And with good reason; after all – this is the Windows that’s supposed to get it right, isn’t it?

What do I mean by that?

Well, Windows flip-flops between good and bad (at least, with the non-server, non-NT versions).

Windows 98 – good.

Windows ME – bad.

Windows XP – good.

Windows Vista – bad.

Windows 7 – good.

Windows 8 – bad.

(We have to remember that Windows 8.1 is essentially just a service pack update and not a full version.)

Now, why is this? Some would say it’s because they are trying to be too radical for their customers – that customers don’t really like change – they accept change when they can’t see it happening or if they feel it a choice they are making, but they don’t otherwise like losing what is familiar. That Windows changes are “not glacial” enough I don’t think works. This is technology and people still get excited by what is new; even when it is technology for the masses. It’s why most of us upgrade our phones every two years.

The reason seems to be more simple – they forget what Windows is about. They lose track and then they get reminded and go back to what they do best.

I’m going to ignore Windows ME here firstly because I didn’t use it (hardly anyone did) so have little understanding of the problems.

So we’ll kick off with Vista. How did Microsoft get it so wrong? Well, what they did was they looked at the competitors. You know how I love a good analogy? Well, let’s go running. When you’re running, when you’re at the front, you don’t look back. Sure, you need to be aware of where your competitors are, what they are doing, but you don’t do so by looking back. Otherwise you trip up.

And Microsoft was looking back at Apple.

When it launched Vista, everything was about the look, the design. Windows were animated – they popped, swished, wooshed, pinged – and they were translucent. Gone were the simple stylings of previous, everything was 3D rendered. It was a bit of a backlash over the Apple = cool, PC = boring adverts that had been around. But in doing so they forgot a couple of key things.

The vast majority of PCs were (indeed, still are) used for business purposes. This meant two things – they needed security and they needed performance. People didn’t really care how they were styled, so long as they did what you needed them to do. People didn’t care if the window wooshed out of the bottom left corner, so long as it didn’t crash the PC. People didn’t care if it popped as it dissolved into the bottom right corner (they actually didn’t want it to, it’s actually quite irritating in an open-plan office if everyone’s computer keeps popping) so long as the system didn’t get attacked by trojans. And that was the problem – they had concentrated so much on the styling they had forgotten about security and performance.

So, they went back to the drawing board, and created XP – styled very similarly to 98 actually.

Once bitten twice shy?

No. Because the markets were watching, chattering. Investors needed innovation; dynamism. Actually they didn’t – what investors wanted was for Microsoft to be more Apple. Apple was raking it in (it still is), Apple was the darling, Apple was mobile whilst Windows wasn’t. But as well as Apple, there was another runner – Google. Whilst Apple was popular hardware, Android is a far more popular OS. So, Microsoft looked over its should at what Android was doing – how it was doing touchscreen. Because tablets were going to be the next big thing – tablets were going to rule all, weren’t they?

I remember a lot of people getting very excited about iPads, although the few people that I know that still use them, either do so because either they feel a duty to get some use out of these very expensive little trays, or simple because the size makes them a little more portable. Anyhow, I think I’ve had a rant on tablets before.

Now, touchscreen works very well for certain things, but not for others – typing for example. I believe that with enough refinement, touchscreen could replace the mouse as an input device. However, unless there is a stratospheric improvement in handwriting recognition technology, it won’t replace a keyboard (even with handwriting recognition, there are many circumstances where a keyboard is quicker, or reduces the use of the screen ‘estate’).

And so it was that Microsoft got distracted by Google. Or Android, more particularly. And just as Android had apps, so Microsoft suddenly had apps. And widgets (cf. “Windows Live Tiles”) which were apps that told you a little bit of info (or maybe even allowed you to control basic functions). Android had a regulated grid layout, with apps or widgets allowed to occupy any combination so long as it was rectangular – Windows is ever-so-slightly more prescriptive of its Tiles and Live Tiles, but the logic is identical.

So, mobiles and tablets are challengers when you don’t need to write an essay – when all you need text-input for is to type a URL or enter a search term in Spotify. For anything more significant than that you need text input for a number of reasons: tactile feedback; how much of the screen estate keyboards take up; comfort of screen/keyboard separate manoeuvrability and visibility; and screen-smear being just a few.

Only, Microsoft forgot: most of its users are business users, people still feverently gripping their mouses – the people who made Blackberry big because it had a hardware keyboard. People who only tap the tile to open Word and Outlook and Internet Explorer. And they couldn’t find where they were. It was too flash, too radical, too Android for people. Fine – change our icons into Tiles, just remember that a lot of people still use the Start button to find things, just remember that on a laptop or a desktop, the screen is often further out of reach that the keyboard.

But just as the markets were chattering, so the critics were desperate to report the death of Microsoft. They missed out on predicting the death of Myspace, so were eager to have their c.v. emblazoned with the words “First analyst to predict the collapse of …”. Microsoft was – if you look at certain figures – losing market share. It still held the desktop and business OS crowns as well as for email clients (note, clients not services) and Office-type applications; but if you took Internet Explorer, Media Player, and its late entry into mobile, it was not the dominant force that the analysts were used to. And Microsoft had to respond to that – it had to follow.

And this is the thing – Microsoft is neither a follower nor a disrupter. It’s lovely, it sits quietly in the corner telling you that you want a ham sandwich and then offering you a ham sandwich. And this isn’t an organically-reared prosciutto with Andalusian gerkin and carefully-caressed jalapeno pepper piccalilli on seventeen-grain-yet-gluten-free-bloomer sanwich. It’s a ham sandwich – it does what it needs to very well whether it’s sat in your lounge or on your business buffet.

People have always needed Windows to be everything; but now they (and particularly the analysts and investors) need Windows 10 to be even more of everything. It needs to be 5 inches as much as 55 inches. It needs to be touch and type. Most of all, it needs to be a brand – a unique identity.

From what I’ve seen, the see-saw has correctly rocked back to a “good” product.

Ten years on

So, something struck me. Purely by chance I happened to look back.

I say purely by chance, it wasn't. I noticed that I'd hit 9000 page views. A lovely round number. So, I thought I'd see where that reckoned me over my 245 posts.

And so it came up - my first post was 11 July 2005; meaning the blog is today TEN YEARS OLD.

Now, I have to say that we have to ignore the fact that I posted a mere 19 posts before shutting off again for almost a full six years.

But anyway. From the first few days of the blog I saw a few startling things.

Firstly, was my almost glancing reference to the events of 7 July 2005. I don't mention the reason, just the date. If you need to know about the bombings on London public transport that killed 52 people within hours of the announcement that London would hold the 2012 Olympic Games, have a read on Wikipedia.

What I also manage to belittle is how close I was to being involved in the events of "seven/seven". Seventh July was a Thursday (I seem to erroneously refer to it being a Friday in my original post). I was involved in a court case in Leeds which was expected to last Monday to Wednesday, so I had booked Thursday and Friday as holiday - I needed to book Friday holiday to go to London, it just made sense to be out of the office all week and busy myself in London, living as I was then with my parents.

So I'd booked a train to arrive into London Kings Cross at 8:38 am. This would have meant me getting a tube probably ever so slightly before 8:50am.

The trial overran. I didn't travel on the Thursday - instead whilst I was having the 'unexpected' second lunch with Susie we were watching the events happen. I did go on the Friday though and was on the first train back into Kings Cross. My blitheness at reporting this I think comes from my want to minimise my claim to the day because so many other people have so much closer or more legitimate a claim to reference or ownership over that day.

Anyhow, you'll notice I was distracted by First Date. Well, First Date is now dead. One of the things I've noticed from my early blogs is how incoherent, distracted and basically assumed the reader had so much more knowledge than an ordinary chap may have. I obviously didn't read my previous post before writing the new one (though the same could be said of today).


First Date was a lovely, gorgeous chap called Steven Johnson. He was the first chap I met after splitting up with my ex and was exactly what I needed - pretty, funny and with no expectations. We tried to arrange another date before my Seychelles trip for my brother's wedding but couldn't; so when I got back I messaged him. It never quite happened. Then I saw him out on what was his 26th birthday. He was so beautiful. He bounced over to me, kissed me on the lips and told me it was his birthday. I kissed him back and wished him happy birthday. He said I should go back with him and I said if I and he were both still out at the end of the night then definitely. I bought him a drink then we each rejoined our friendship groups; still coyly glancing at each other. Then we each left the bar - him to go home with his housemate, me to carry on clubbing with my friends.

He didn't wake up the next morning.

He stopped breathing in his sleep.

This actually continues to devastate me perhaps an awful lot more than I let on. I know it's ten years ago, we weren't that close - some could say that because we never actually got to first date I am a one-nighter. But we weren't, we were friends. And he was always so happy to see me. It's also a very stark reminder of my own mortality. I know people die, my grandparents have all died; my parents regale me each week of a list of people in their village or that they worked with who have gone. But old people die - not 26 year-olds that you go clubbing with, get off with, wake up in bed with. If only I'd been in bed with him that night - like he wanted.

But what of the Ex? You may remember (and if not I'll helpfully post the link so you can read) that I was struggling with my Ex?

I don't think I ever explained. The Ex and I had dated for around 9 months (technically 2 stints of 4 months with one off in the middle). I met my Ex in August 2004, we dated, we went to Boston (the American one) and he spent the whole time there in a foul mood basically on the basis that it wasn't New York (he chose Boston over New York on the basis he'd been to New York already, he wanted to try Boston and my views didn't matter because I'd never been to America at all). We split up on return from Boston, but then - him getting needy before Christmas, me not having a strong enough will-power to resist - we got back together a few weeks before Christmas. 

Then, on Christmas day, my dad decided that we had to make the decision who was going to the Seychelles for my brother's wedding. Well, my Ex decided he was going and so that was that - his ticket was bought.

Within weeks the issues were there - his niggling, his aggravation, my general annoyance. Let's remember, though, that this is February - the coldest, darkest time of the year. I get bad in February, I know that.

But it didn't resolve itself; and by May he was annoying me more than ever. I was looking for a way out; but if I broke it off, morally I would be responsible for the cost of his ticket to the Seychelles. I was a trainee solicitor. So often I convinced myself that all I had to do was get through the holiday with him - enjoy it even - and then make a decision.

Anyhow, things came to a head on Friday 13th May 2005. That would make sense, wouldn't it? On the Saturday we had to go to his friend's wedding; but on the Friday I was on a course in Birmingham. He regularly moaned about having to have a weekend away every month - normally somewhere expensive (that's where Boston came in) but I tried to tie him down with cheaper, local alternatives. So on the basis I was in Birmingham on a Friday, it was somewhere different, we decided to get a hotel for the night.

Then happened what I will forever call the "catching the Ex giving someone else a blow job in a nightclub toilet in Birmingham" incident. It kind of speaks for itself.

The Ex was travelling to Birmingham but couldn't find the hotel. He kept repeatedly driving around the ringroad, unable to find the hotel. He kept repeatedly ringing me telling me how he was unable to find the hotel. I was no help as I didn't know Birmingham and I certainly didn't know where he was. Anyhow, he found the hotel and was alarmingly - disarmingly - calm about things. The Ex was never calm about things like these. But that day, he was.

Anyhow, we booked in to one of the eeriest converted lunatic asylums you've ever stayed in. The weekend was certainly going well. But, the hotel was easy walking distance of the gay scene, so we walked into the gay scene and had - until the Catching The Ex Giving Someone Else A Blow Job In A Nightclub Toilet In Birmingham incident - actually quite a nice night.

Towards the end of the night we were thinking of leaving. The Ex needed the toilet before we went so I was left holding the drinks. But then I started getting needy. Really needy. So I abandonned the drinks and went to the toilets too.

There was no-one at the urinals and only one of the cubicles was locked. This had to be the Ex - I'd seen him go to the toilets, I hadn't seen him come out. So I had my wee and then I thought I'd pop my head over the partition, see if he was ok.

He was more than ok.

So I left the club and went back to the hotel.

He started messaging me - asking me where I was. I didn't reply. Instead I contacted the night porter and informed him that my companion would not be staying the night but would be collecting his bags from reception which were outside the room. The night porter responded with "as if I don't have enough to do". I'm not sure how busy the life of a night porter is.

Next thing I know the Ex is pounding on the door, asking me to let him in. My response of "I saw you sucking that other guy's cock" was met with a few moments of silence, before the night porter emitted "come on mate, don't think you're staying in there tonight."

I turned off my mobile, I unplugged the hotel phone when he started ringing that. The next morning I texted him when I was safely on my train - told him to go to the wedding, just without me.

That night was weird. I was disappointed, and yet relieved. This got me out of the whole thing, scot free  (and holiday-refund free) - and yet he still had the bloody gall to cheat on me.

Anyhow, after splitting, he - and, to be fair, I - wanted to stay friends. I'm not a fan of having life-long enemies. However, he made it difficult. I used to pop in on my way home from work; but he always wanted sex. I exasperated this on Day Two. I think at that point, I had managed to put my foot down - refusing to see the Ex again because he only ever wanted sex.

And I've never seen him since.

We're friends on Facebook in the same way as I am friends with 400 or so people that I used to know. He's been in a long-term relationship with someone older than him for a good 9 years or so - so almost as soon as he split up with me. But the seem happy, so that's good.

(Just by way of information, he did give me a Pulitzer-Prize winning reasoning behind it - apparently the chap really fancied ME; wanted to get with me. My Ex informed him the only way this would happen was by way of threesome. Chap seemed happy with that plan, so my ex then had to determine that he was clean before even propositioning it to me. The only way to check the cleanliness was - obviously - an oral inspection). 

I've moved jobs three times and moved out of my parents' since then. I've been in my house 9 years now, albeit I am finally putting some finishing touches to the last room before I hopefully sell it and move to London - a long overdue move (more on this later).

I have college written down as a thing to update on, but it is kind of a given. I kept going to college, I got my AS in Psychology (B) but then they transferred the course to another campus so couldn't carry on.

The word terranomically still hasn't taken off, though to be fair I haven't really used it myself. Think astronomically, only not quite so melodramatic - only earth-shattering.

Otherwise (and I'm not doing a full retrospective here) you'll notice the blog is less personal. I think one of the reasons I struggled past post 19 was that it was there is only so much that you can say when you day involves the same, isolated car commute to work, the same (or, if different, so inherently microcosmically so that no-one would understand the difference without getting very quickly bored) day at work, the same trip home, and the same evening at home as every single other night (weekends excepted). My rants off on sexuality, technology, even branding and advertising, allow me to say something when otherwise I would perhaps have nothing else to say.

Obviously there are still the same old spelling, grammatical and syntax errors - there always will be. I'm either writing it on the move or when I've had a drink (or both); I can't be bothered to proof-read my own copy (and psychology says if you do, you will read what you think you wrote anyway). I do, however, think the posts are somewhat more coherent.

So, that's an update on the first few days from ten years ago...

Blog on!

Me and My Anxiety

So, yesterday I went swimming for the first time in two years.

And it was an early morning swim - as soon as the pool opened


Should be lovely, shouldn’t it? After all, I can swim. I used to do it regularly.


Only I got worked up.

I got worked up for a number of reasons – what if I missed my alarm? What if it was too busy? What if I mis-calculated the time I had to get out and had to rush for or miss my train? What about the actual swimming – what if I was too slow, or had forgotten how to do it? What if I had an incident and nearly drowned? What if I took my clothes off and was ugly?


Of course, none of this came to pass. I got up on time, was well organised, arrived at the pool 5 minutes before it opened, changed efficiently, picked the correct lane, swam appropriately fast, did my 100 lengths well in time without even a cough or splutter, got out and made it to the train well in time. And yet I’m intending on doing the same tomorrow and already I’m anxious.


You will recall that I used to lunchrun? My million metre target. Almost every day for 20 months I did this, almost every day for 20 months I got anxious at around 12:50. Similar anxiety – that I would take too long getting changed, not give myself enough time to run, that I’d look silly. I mean, for goodness sake – I ran on my own around reasonably secluded lakes, if I suffered any anxiety it should have been that I’d do myself a mischief and not be found for three days.


This morning I received a phone call from a withheld number. I was tempted to just let it go to answerphone; but that’s how it wins, how it gets worse. So – nervously – I answered. It was only my doctor giving me the phone number of the hospital for me to make an appointment. That will be a phone call which will give me anxiety when I have to make it – I’ve already put it off for 2 hours. What will I say? What if it’s not the correct department? What if I have to leave an answermachine message (I am notoriously bad at these because I panic, stutter, stumble and forget).


It seems to be getting worse, which worries me. I barely answer the phone at work unless I know the number. Even last night I got myself all anxious about doing DIY – I’m stripping the stairs of paint. I’ve been doing it for a few weeks now – a couple of hours a night, a couple of nights a week. But still I get anxious thinking about starting: getting changed, actually cracking on with the work.


Now, I realise fully that my suffering is nothing compared with some other people. Some people suffer panic attacks that see them hospitalised or passing out. Some people find their anxiety so debilitating that they cannot leave the house. Currently I’m able to grow a pair of balls and just knuckle down and get it done – there are people that can’t do that, or at least not unmedicated.


The problem is if it gets worse. As I say, I avoid answering the phone at work. Unfortunately in my workplace conference calls spread worse than the most contagious rash. I’ve tried explaining that I prefer doing things over email – giving me the time to consider the implications of the changes being made – but they insist upon conference calls to get the matter sorted quickly. Fortunately I can usually sit back and let someone else take the lead, but sometime it is something I have to do and it makes me stressed.


Anyhow, I have to go and make that call…

Promotional Pride

So, this last weekend was Pride in London. It was also New York Pride and San Francisco Pride.


We’ve adopted that word – Pride.


The problem is, we don’t show it.


The reason that we hold pride events is because we don’t have it. One of the more notable events of the weekend – the parade through the centre of London – was hijacked by people eager to shame the LGBT community; or more directly the event organisers. And those hijackers, those shamers?


They came from within the LGBT community.


They struck out into the parade route immediately in front of the parade, dressed in black, carrying a pride coffin and banners bemoaning RIP PRIDE.

They claim that the LGBT community have forgotten why prides exist – that the message has been lost. Indeed – and you will spare me the irony here – it is an argument I myself have made. But their argument is two-fold: firstly that we’ve given up the fight; and secondly that we’ve sold out, capitulated. Capitalated, if you will.


Of the first, they say that pride parades do not do enough to protest, to lobby, to challenge and to represent. It’s far too much about pissy queens spending all of their time decorating their costume and not thinking about their history, their future. They say we have all too readily accepted that we have won – that we are forgetting the fights that have been fought in favour of complacency and a party.

Their argument is that we feel we have nothing left to fight for and they argue that we do – that despite (now) legal equality, there is still a social stigma, an invisible inequality, where people still get turned down jobs on the basis of a lisp or a limp wrist. For their argument they evidence that along the parade route there were a couple of minor counter-protests; half a dozen or so Christians or Muslims holding a placard with some scripture quoted on it. They ignore the scores of Christians and Muslims in the parade – whether an organised religious grouping or as an otherwise unidentifiable member of another group; whether gay themselves or an ‘ally’ (it’s the latest thing to be) – they ignore the hundreds, thousands, millions of religious members who didn’t turn out to protest, who don’t care or may even be an armchair ally.


They concentrate on the few; and – until someone does develop the thought police – you are not going to change those minds in the same way as you can’t change the mind of the yob who thinks it’s socially acceptable to shout at his girlfriend in the street.


Their other argument is that Pride is no longer about the LGBT community. I have to say I understand their point. I stood and watched quite a considerable amount of the parade. Too much of the parade. So much of the parade that I couldn’t get in to the celebrations in Trafalgar Square by the time we left; that Old Compton Street was almost immovable with bodies. I left after “Section D” had gone by. There was still “Section E” and “Section F” to go. In all, there were well in excess of 250 groups. Everyone needed to have their representation. It was dull, it was boring and it was long. As I say, we left after D. This was at around 4:30/5:00pm, the parade started at 1:00pm. One can only presume that it carried on until 6pm.


But the argument of the protesters was that the parade had sold out. Yes, there were political paraders, however there were an awful lot that weren’t. There were a lot of corporations – this was the major gripe of the mourners – however there were other associations or groups. And the protesters argument is that the parade was not an attempt to advance a single message, but for each of these organisations to advance their own, individual messages.


The banks were there to advance their own Corporate and Social Responsibility policies – to make it clear that they are a bank you would want to bank with or to work for. The social groups – the sports and the singers – were there on their own private recruitment drives. Even UKIP (who managed also to piggyback themselves in, despite having been denied an official place) had their own private message in the same way as the LGBTories: despite rumours to the contrary, you can be both.


Now, the LGBT community has long had strong links to the unions – indeed, it’s in the very ethos of the unions to protect their minority or oppressed workers by mobilising the other masses on the grounds of “it could happen to use – you could be the minority – who would you turned to then?” It therefore works by natural expansion that there is also a connection with political parties – at the very least Labour and the Liberals. But the banks? The supermarkets? Surely that’s just pure, plain, blatant advertising?


Well … perhaps. But don’t forget that this is a capitalist society. These parades are not free – they cost money. No longer can it be done out of Tim and Jenny putting in a few hours a couple of nights a week to paint a banner; no longer can we rely on a few charitable donations without having to give back.


The bigger these events get, the more they cost. There is a cost for the barriers along the parade, for the security, for the street cleaning; there is the cost of the big stage, the lighting, sound and electricity; for the portable toilets. You’d hope that the installation of a bar would pay for itself but a lot of the rest of the infrastructure behind the parade (often invisible) costs. And if your parade is tiny you may be able to convince the local loo company to let you have half a dozen for the day on the basis that everyone will see the sign on the front and hire their toilets from LocalLoos in future; but when it gets to four trailer loads of toilets? A few thousand metres of barrier? 100 security personnel for a day? It costs.

Almost every Pride has gone through it's "commercial moment" - London, Brighton, Manchester, even Nottingham Pride realised it had to change its whole structure if it were to be economical.


And where once they merely wanted their name displaying on a couple of signs at the entrances or a discrete mention of “supported by BiggerBank” on the tannoy announcements; the more they give, the more they want. Hence why the first group in the parade after the flag bearers was Barclays –

Barclays who as well as their enormous branded bus, who as well as by far more dancers than the social dancing groups put together, had very prominent advertising along the route, in all the publications, even on the sides of buses in the week leading up to Pride. Don’t worry though: Lloyds, Santander, HSBC and Halifax all had their own bus.


So, is it killing Pride? Is it capitulating?
Is it merely Pride developing into modern society?
Is it actually a very, very good thing – encouraging social or ethical change within big corporations; getting them on board with the LGBT agenda in return for a little publicity?