Just bought an internet-enabled TV. We had to also buy a £75 (!!) wi-fi dongle to connect it to our router, and it didn't work. Very annoying, as a laptop, my smartphone, and a Nintendo 3DS had all connected effortlessly in recent weeks. The error report from the TV was quite basic: 'Failed'. It did at least confirm that it could see the dongle, and our router, but no indication of why it couldn't connect.
I went on to the web and googled "Sony Bravia wireless connection problem". Loads of people in the same boat, but no solutions, other than a couple of people for whom it had just started working eventually. One guy wanted me to go into my router and start setting DNS settings. I think not.
After half an hour of trying to set the TV's IP address manually, changing the wi-fi channel, and moving the router into the living room, I gave up for the night.
Today my 11 year old son has a go. He converts the letters in our SSID to uppercase, and suddenly the TV is on the net. I am more than a little bit miffed, and not because I've been outsmarted by someone four decades younger than me (I've grown used to that). Those letters in the SSID are hex digits, so it shouldn't matter if they're uppercase, lowercase or in bold italics. And if it does make a difference, why did the TV let us enter in lowercase in the first place? Am I missing something?
Anyway, that's behind us now. Tonight we will spend the evening watching YouTube videos from the comfort of our living room. Truly this is the Golden Age for nerds.
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Sunday, 20 March 2011
BT decides it's not so good to talk after all
One of my other hats is Secretary to an Out of School Club. To save funds we decided to get rid of our BT land line and just use a cheap mobile phone on Pay as You Go. Our manager rang BT up to cancel our line, failed, and asked me if I'd have a go. "No problem", I confidently, and wrongly, answered.
First I rang the 0800 number on our bill. The automated answer system didn't have cancellations among its numerous options, so I aimed for the nearest one (getting new facilities on your line), and got straight through to an operator. He was not happy to speak to me about cancelling. We don't handle that here; you need to ring 0800 800 871. I did, and a polite voice thanked me for ringing BT but informed me that the number was no longer in use. I should ring 0800 800 152 instead.
Apart from the annoyance of being given a wrong number by someone whose job is to help BT customers (even outgoing ones?), would it have killed BT to automatically redirect me? I mean, they should have access to this advanced technology, what with them being a phone company.
By now realising why I had ended up with this job, I rang the new number. I had to negotiate with a voice recognition program, but we established that I wanted to cancel my line and I was put into a queue. Turned out they were 'exceptionally busy', but if I held on long enough, hell would eventually freeze over and someone would talk to me. I gave up after ten minutes.
The next day I tried again, this time having taken the precaution of emptying my bladder first in anticipation of a long wait. I was not to be disappointed. Twenty minutes this time, before the phone against my ear got so hot I gave up from the sheer discomfort. I really find it hard to imagine that there were so many people queuing that long in front of me; nobody at the other end sounded much more likely. I decided to ring again, but this time to request changing my direct debit details (from having one to not having one). The cursed automated system got the better of me: it wanted me to key in the new direct debit amount without reference to a human operator.
Back to the original sales number: two rings and I was through to a human being. Without giving him time to start his spiel, I told him my story of woe and begged for assistance. Now for the happy ending: although BT as a company seems to have little respect for its customers, its staff are made of better stuff. In a few minutes the cancellation was in progress, and I even had a ten digit reference number to take home.
Of course, it could all still go pair-shaped, sending me back to square one, and the overall experience has left a bad taste in my mouth. BT don't provide an address you can write to, their web site doesn't mention cancellations, and the phone number they provide for this doesn't seem to be staffed. You could almost imagine ...
First I rang the 0800 number on our bill. The automated answer system didn't have cancellations among its numerous options, so I aimed for the nearest one (getting new facilities on your line), and got straight through to an operator. He was not happy to speak to me about cancelling. We don't handle that here; you need to ring 0800 800 871. I did, and a polite voice thanked me for ringing BT but informed me that the number was no longer in use. I should ring 0800 800 152 instead.
Apart from the annoyance of being given a wrong number by someone whose job is to help BT customers (even outgoing ones?), would it have killed BT to automatically redirect me? I mean, they should have access to this advanced technology, what with them being a phone company.
By now realising why I had ended up with this job, I rang the new number. I had to negotiate with a voice recognition program, but we established that I wanted to cancel my line and I was put into a queue. Turned out they were 'exceptionally busy', but if I held on long enough, hell would eventually freeze over and someone would talk to me. I gave up after ten minutes.
The next day I tried again, this time having taken the precaution of emptying my bladder first in anticipation of a long wait. I was not to be disappointed. Twenty minutes this time, before the phone against my ear got so hot I gave up from the sheer discomfort. I really find it hard to imagine that there were so many people queuing that long in front of me; nobody at the other end sounded much more likely. I decided to ring again, but this time to request changing my direct debit details (from having one to not having one). The cursed automated system got the better of me: it wanted me to key in the new direct debit amount without reference to a human operator.
Back to the original sales number: two rings and I was through to a human being. Without giving him time to start his spiel, I told him my story of woe and begged for assistance. Now for the happy ending: although BT as a company seems to have little respect for its customers, its staff are made of better stuff. In a few minutes the cancellation was in progress, and I even had a ten digit reference number to take home.
Of course, it could all still go pair-shaped, sending me back to square one, and the overall experience has left a bad taste in my mouth. BT don't provide an address you can write to, their web site doesn't mention cancellations, and the phone number they provide for this doesn't seem to be staffed. You could almost imagine ...
Sunday, 27 February 2011
Biggles Flies Again
My son has just started reading a Biggles book. I used to collect the works of Capt W E Johns when I was roughly his age, but 'Biggles Defies the Swastika' is one of the few of those books that I can even vaguely remember. Biggles is in Norway in 1940 planning what aid Britain could provide in the event of a German invasion, when the Germans actually do invade, and he has to get out of the country posing as a Norwegian nazi. Quite how he hid his clipped British accent I forget.
I was surprised to see that the book was published in 1941, when it would have been extremely topical. In fact, given the lead times for publication, I wonder if Johns's narrative was as overtaken by events as was his hero. I would have read it nearer to 1970, when WW2 already seemed like distant history to me. And yet it was in fact no further in the past than the Falklands War is to me now, an event I can still remember in some detail. On the other hand, to my son the invasion of Norway is as far away as the Boer War was to me as a child.
His previous book was a Star Wars novel. Here we have a shared outlook, although he will never know the sense of wonder audiences experienced in 1977 when we first saw an SF film with decent special effects (pace 2001).
I was surprised to see that the book was published in 1941, when it would have been extremely topical. In fact, given the lead times for publication, I wonder if Johns's narrative was as overtaken by events as was his hero. I would have read it nearer to 1970, when WW2 already seemed like distant history to me. And yet it was in fact no further in the past than the Falklands War is to me now, an event I can still remember in some detail. On the other hand, to my son the invasion of Norway is as far away as the Boer War was to me as a child.
His previous book was a Star Wars novel. Here we have a shared outlook, although he will never know the sense of wonder audiences experienced in 1977 when we first saw an SF film with decent special effects (pace 2001).
Stumbling Across My Mother
Last year I uploaded two photos of my maternal grandfather to this blog. I did it because, although he was slightly famous in his field, Google Image Search can't find a single photo of him.
It took a few weeks, but Google did eventually index the photos--but only for a few days. Since then a search for 'Georg Pniower' will bring up numerous images, including just about every other image on this blog of mine, even screen shots, but not those. I really have no idea of what algorithm Google uses that could exclude photos labelled 'Georg Pniower', while including one of me on the grounds that it lives in the same blog as a post mentioning Pniower.
I tried the search again last week. Still no photos of my grandfather, but imagine my surprise to see my mother, Renate, staring out at me, aged 12: a photo I'd never seen before.
Georg Pniower was half-Jewish, and when the Nazis came to power he and his family came under increasing threat of persecution. For safety he sent his daughter to a boarding school in Surrey set up for the children of refugees from Nazism. Stoatley Rough was a name I remember my mother mentioning often, though I don't think she ever visited it again, even though we only lived in Kent. Someone has created a web site about the school, with photos of the pupils, and so Google have included it in the results for 'Georg Pniower'.
Despite my grandfather's efforts to protect my mother, war broke out during the summer holidays in 1939 when she was back in Germany. Pniower thought twice about bringing her home, but the British Foreign Office reassured him that it would be safe. As we saw in Libya this week, competence is still something the FO aims for.
It took a few weeks, but Google did eventually index the photos--but only for a few days. Since then a search for 'Georg Pniower' will bring up numerous images, including just about every other image on this blog of mine, even screen shots, but not those. I really have no idea of what algorithm Google uses that could exclude photos labelled 'Georg Pniower', while including one of me on the grounds that it lives in the same blog as a post mentioning Pniower.
I tried the search again last week. Still no photos of my grandfather, but imagine my surprise to see my mother, Renate, staring out at me, aged 12: a photo I'd never seen before.
Georg Pniower was half-Jewish, and when the Nazis came to power he and his family came under increasing threat of persecution. For safety he sent his daughter to a boarding school in Surrey set up for the children of refugees from Nazism. Stoatley Rough was a name I remember my mother mentioning often, though I don't think she ever visited it again, even though we only lived in Kent. Someone has created a web site about the school, with photos of the pupils, and so Google have included it in the results for 'Georg Pniower'.
Despite my grandfather's efforts to protect my mother, war broke out during the summer holidays in 1939 when she was back in Germany. Pniower thought twice about bringing her home, but the British Foreign Office reassured him that it would be safe. As we saw in Libya this week, competence is still something the FO aims for.
Saturday, 26 February 2011
08080 600832
This number has been ringing my mobile phone all week: twice a day sometimes. Twice I picked up the call, but both times I just heard office noises for a few seconds before being cut off. A Google search reveals fellow sufferers enjoying a similar experience, with a few getting to speak to a tele-salesperson.
Presumably whoever's responsible is auto-dialling several numbers at once so that they always have someone to speak to on the other end. However, when you're dialling mobile phones (or even a lot of non-mobiles), the recipient phone displays the incoming call's number. As it happens, I've added the number to my contacts under the name 'Spam' and I now refuse the calls. However, if I was prepared to answer the phone again and again until I finally spoke to a human being, I would by then be so hacked off by their cavalier approach that their chance of selling me anything would be zero.
And yet they keep doing this, so it must produce a return. I can only assume that there are people who will always answer the phone, no matter how obvious it should be that it's a waste of time. And maybe these are the same people who don't instinctively type the number into a search engine to see what comes up. Also this week, I got forwarded a hoax virus warning e-mail. The friend who forwarded it to me (and also to all the rest of their friends and acquaintances) suggested it might be a fake, but 'better safe than sorry'. It would have taken them ten seconds in Google to find out that it was a hoax dating back at least two years. Instead they propagated it to dozens more people, who all now have my e-mail address in their mail clients, as the BCC facility is also grossly under-utilised.
My son starts at secondary school in September, and I was pleased to note that the ICT course starts by teaching the children how to be safe on the internet. I sincerely hope that this includes a few common sense practices that will make the job of hoaxers and spammers a whole lot harder.
Presumably whoever's responsible is auto-dialling several numbers at once so that they always have someone to speak to on the other end. However, when you're dialling mobile phones (or even a lot of non-mobiles), the recipient phone displays the incoming call's number. As it happens, I've added the number to my contacts under the name 'Spam' and I now refuse the calls. However, if I was prepared to answer the phone again and again until I finally spoke to a human being, I would by then be so hacked off by their cavalier approach that their chance of selling me anything would be zero.
And yet they keep doing this, so it must produce a return. I can only assume that there are people who will always answer the phone, no matter how obvious it should be that it's a waste of time. And maybe these are the same people who don't instinctively type the number into a search engine to see what comes up. Also this week, I got forwarded a hoax virus warning e-mail. The friend who forwarded it to me (and also to all the rest of their friends and acquaintances) suggested it might be a fake, but 'better safe than sorry'. It would have taken them ten seconds in Google to find out that it was a hoax dating back at least two years. Instead they propagated it to dozens more people, who all now have my e-mail address in their mail clients, as the BCC facility is also grossly under-utilised.
My son starts at secondary school in September, and I was pleased to note that the ICT course starts by teaching the children how to be safe on the internet. I sincerely hope that this includes a few common sense practices that will make the job of hoaxers and spammers a whole lot harder.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
A Farewell to Thunderbird
I have finally taken the plunge and abandoned using Thunderbird as my mail client. Running four different e-mail accounts, Thunderbird made it easy to download all my mail to one place, as well as allowing me to easily move messages between accounts, while the Lightning add-in did a fair job of handling my calendar. Unfortunately, Thunderbird had taken to hanging for several seconds at a time while I was typing, and this seemed to be becoming more frequent. Also, synchronising the calendar with my mobile was far from satisfactory.
When I recently changed my mobile for an Android model, the fact that three of my accounts were on GMail made it suddenly much more sensible to go straight to mail.google.com to see my messages, rather than downloading them to my PC's hard drive via Thunderbird. The only drawback was GMail's limited ability to create folders to put old messages in. Then a colleague explained how there was a Labs feature to allow child folders, and suddenly my last objection vanished.
(Incidentally, the feature is called 'Nested Labels'. Why is this still experimental? It's virtually a 'Make Program Usable' option, and it's standard in any mail client I've ever used.)
The fourth e-mail account is the one I have with my ISP. Nobody knows the e-mail address except them, which means all I get is the monthly 'your bill is ready' message, and the odd bit of marketing. I'll still use Thunderbird to check on those occasionally. The most recent mail from them was to tell me that they liked me so much as a customer that they'd spontaneously upped my download speed to between 8 and 24 Mbits. I checked straight away: still 6 to 7. But it's nice they're thinking of me.
When I recently changed my mobile for an Android model, the fact that three of my accounts were on GMail made it suddenly much more sensible to go straight to mail.google.com to see my messages, rather than downloading them to my PC's hard drive via Thunderbird. The only drawback was GMail's limited ability to create folders to put old messages in. Then a colleague explained how there was a Labs feature to allow child folders, and suddenly my last objection vanished.
(Incidentally, the feature is called 'Nested Labels'. Why is this still experimental? It's virtually a 'Make Program Usable' option, and it's standard in any mail client I've ever used.)
The fourth e-mail account is the one I have with my ISP. Nobody knows the e-mail address except them, which means all I get is the monthly 'your bill is ready' message, and the odd bit of marketing. I'll still use Thunderbird to check on those occasionally. The most recent mail from them was to tell me that they liked me so much as a customer that they'd spontaneously upped my download speed to between 8 and 24 Mbits. I checked straight away: still 6 to 7. But it's nice they're thinking of me.
Saturday, 8 January 2011
Have you seen my hair?
Exciting news from the BBC. Apparently scientists have found the cause of male pattern baldness: instead of being bald, I just have invisible hair.
I guess this is Life's way of laughing at middle-aged men. As we get older we risk our hair going invisible. Similarly, I've noticed that hours of working out at the gym have resulted in me developing invisible muscles. And as my three endowment policies finally come to maturity after 25 years, I can look forward to enjoying invisible payouts.
Actually, that last part's not strictly accurate. For 'invisible', just substitute 'nowhere near what those w*nkers at Abbey National suggested to me back in 1987.'
I guess this is Life's way of laughing at middle-aged men. As we get older we risk our hair going invisible. Similarly, I've noticed that hours of working out at the gym have resulted in me developing invisible muscles. And as my three endowment policies finally come to maturity after 25 years, I can look forward to enjoying invisible payouts.
Actually, that last part's not strictly accurate. For 'invisible', just substitute 'nowhere near what those w*nkers at Abbey National suggested to me back in 1987.'
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