Pragmatic for the people

Our Freeview box died recently. It wasn’t a massive surprise as it had become increasingly temperamental, freezing randomly and not recording programmes it was supposed to – and sometimes even the ones it did record contained bugs that wiped out a chunk of our memory. Then, like the blue screen of death on a PC, the word FAIL appeared as we tried to restart the box one Saturday morning after it had crashed again.

So, a click on the interweb beckoned. Finding a replacement in theory was easy but there was the added complication of needing a new TV as well. The one we had – a simple 14-inch portable – was still in great working order, but its age meant it was no longer compatible with modern set-ups. Right, prices. Lowest to highest, oops wrong way round. Hang on, what the… £2,159? People are prepared to splash out as much as £2,159 for a new telly? Really?

Yeah, but like it has, like, you know, interactive features and shit; you can feel Dermot O’Leary hugging you while he man-handles the contestants on the X-Factor, Luis Suarez actually dives into your living room when Premier League defenders breathe on him while John Terry celebrates making your dinner, Jon Snow introduces you personally before he reads the news headlines, and you can tell Alan Sugar he’s fired and everyfink.

Ah, so that was what I was missing out on? Fair enough. Except, no. The four-line paragraph advertising the product simply masturbated over how great the TV looked, how big it was, and how great it sounded. Admittedly that’s probably not too dissimilar to my profile description during my internet dating days but still. Its features were pretty generic – Now and Next programme guide, Autoscan channels, Digital Text, Subtitles, Audio Description, etc. Er, yes? Otherwise it was all sockets, sockets, sockets. “Includes 0 pairs of 3D glasses”  just about summed it up. You mugs.

Well, that was my initial reaction. Thing is, was it right? Was I taking the moral high ground? Was I just jealous? I mean, I’d love to have two grand as spare change. Was I simply getting old and overly pragmatic for the sake of it? After around 30 seconds I reassured myself that I had merely entered my pet hate world of style over substance, and the TV situation epitomised it. Sure, it would be great for hosting parties, film nights, big footie games, but unless your obligatory several hundred friends on Facebook were genuinely people you partied with every weekend then my portable telly wins out as far as I’m concerned. It had been mine for about seven years, surviving four house/flat moves and outliving two other Freeview boxes and a DVD player. It was already second-hand when I first bought it at a repair shop in Watford, for around £50. And if the analogue signal still existed we’d probably still be able to use it elsewhere.

My philosophy has always been similar with cars. Yes, I’m sure some laydeeeeeeez would rather be picked up by a flash geezer in a BMW Turbo Orgasm than a gimp in a 1994 Renault Clio, but as far as I’m concerned cars exist to get people from A to B and for absolutely no other reason. The Clio was about eight years old when I first got it, and though I could have upgraded to a newer car after putting a few thousand miles on its clock, I didn’t because it was incredibly reliable and barely touched the £100 mark in repair costs between then and its sad death in late 2007 courtesy of some local chavs who clearly should’ve gone to Specsavers. Obviously company cars need to be upgraded regularly, but it baffles me how so many people want a new car every year for the sake of it. People wouldn’t do that with mobile phones, would they? Oh wait.

How to actually talk to someone. Modmyi

Now don’t worry, I’m not going to slate the iPhone. Like many people I have one – albeit one I inherited rather than bought – and I do really like it. Having email and internet access on the go is great, and some of the Apps are genuinely very useful, especially the travel or location-based ones. Then again, a friend of mine who recently bought one took me to one side and said “Sorry for being thick but how do you make a call on this? I actually want to speak to someone.” I didn’t laugh. The iPhone has its strengths but its design isn’t one of them. The phone icon should be central and ideally the first thing you see when visiting the main screen, and not relegated to the bottom left hand corner. It is primarily a phone after all. Even when you tap the icon it doesn’t necessarily default to the keypad.

Thing is, I’m fine with most modern-day innovations as long as they  make life easier. Online banking, for example – great. Online airport check-in – great. Self-service supermarket checkouts – great. For every one of those, however, you have adverts claiming that women can have happy periods, or that wiping your arse with certain brands of toilet paper cleanses the soul.  

Going to the toilet should be the most functional thing in the world, though you’d never know it visiting a modern-day public loo. Not that I’m suggesting public toilets should revert to being traditional, er, shitholes, but if you need to go you need to go (even if it means paying – at the time of writing – 30p in several London train stations), and when I need to go I just want to get in and get out as soon as possible without being humiliated bamboozled by oh-so-clever machinery in between.

Freshening up has never felt so needlessly complex. Euromodul  

Right, the business is done, feel much better. So where do I wash my hands? There’s no soap. Actually, come to think of it, there’s no sink either. Under here, boss. Er, sorry? Under here, innit. Er, you’re a mirror aren’t you? Nah, one of them all-in-one machines. Put your hands under here, boss. No, left a bit. OK, nothing’s happening. Nah, put them back, you have to give it five seconds to activate. Ah, right. Hang on, you’re having a laugh, that’s not enough soap for a fingernail. That’s ‘cos you moved out too soon. Put them back in. What, again? Ah right, that’s better. So where do I wash my hands? Over here. Where? To your right, boss. OK. Come on, surely I deserve more than a dribble? You’re not far enough in. Story of my life, mate. Ah, good. So what about the dryer? Over here. Where? To your right. Nothing’s happening. Hold your hands in for five seconds. Er, still nothing. Ah, sorry boss, I forgot, it stopped working yesterday. See you again?

Basically, anything that requires visual instructions to undertake the process of basic and generic hygiene clearly fails to fulfil its purpose, and sensor-activated machinery in general tends to be useless from my experience. The worst shower I’ve ever had was after a game of five-a-side at a sports complex which used sensored shower heads. They wouldn’t turn on unless you were right underneath, and switched off as soon as you moved a muscle, say, for the privilege of using shampoo and/or shower gel. And because they turned on and off at will, the temperature of the water shifted violently from oven to freezer and back in the space of seconds. Never again. So apologies to anyone who sat next to me on the Jubilee Line every Thursday for several months afterwards.

But hang on a minute, I don’t hear you cry, surely the whole public toilet thing is worth it if it means your bladder feels comfortable again afterwards? Yes and no. Have you ever needed to go on a train journey these days, particularly with Virgin? I once did, so I made my way through a few carriages to find the toilet, which on first glance looked like a closed kiosk. I spotted the ‘Open’ button so tentatively pressed it and the doors slid open gradually in semi-circular fashion like an 80s game show where the star prize is revealed via the legs of Bruce Forsyth’s latest bit on the side. I was already nervous. Luckily I saw the ‘Close’ button on the inside fairly quickly and the same excruciating wait ensued as the door shut. Now call me thick but I assumed that if you pressed the ‘Close’ button whilst inside the sensor would automatically activate a lock on the outside. Apart from George Michael, who would not want that to happen? But no.

To speak to a customer service advisor, press #  4c Design

True, while I started peeing I did notice a ‘Lock’ button, but it was flashing and, again, wasn’t it just activating privacy from the outside? Apparently not. Suddenly the 80s game show door started its excruciating slide open again and I panicked as quietly as I could. Thankfully I’d just about finished so had the split-second I needed to button up my flies before the door revealed a guy in his 20s; we both shrugged it off. Well I technically couldn’t as I still had to wash my hands. This time I did manage to lock the door so I could relax a bit. So, where’s the sink then. Under here, boss.  

Now, I’m well aware that these toilets, which are nice and spacious, are designed with the disabled in mind, so no problem there. It’s just a shame space and sense aren’t compatible in this case. Obviously at the time I questioned whether it was just me, but on one recent journey two people within the space of minutes failed to fully grasp it either; both needed two attempts just to get the door open and shut. 

So there you go, needless tension and confusion surrounding everyday basic functions. Obviously if you're unlucky enough to need a 'next time' then the process becomes less confusing more straightforward, but you still have to rely on a machine to choose how much soap, water and heat you're allowed. Next time I want to do it the bog-standard way. We all need to move with the times, but life, for the most part, remains simple. It's people who make it complicated. Now where's that telly...