JamesFernie.com

My other blog over at What Now?! just got an award. O.K, there wasn’t much competition in the ‘cleft lip and palate blog’ category but this is my first award so I’m keeping it!

Medical Billing

Back in 1997 when I was all of 21 I started working for an internet company. It’s the company which I am now in charge of. Dial Internet, as we were then, was a very small start up ISP and my role involved knocking on doors of business park offices, getting compliment slips and trying to get my foot in the door. Then I would flog them a 28.8k modem (for £150!) a domain name, a dial up account with email and, more often than not, go back to install drivers for Windows 3.1 to get them going online. Many of those customers still pay us money every month. Granted though, not for dial up.

Selling access accounts was to be fair, very easy. For every luddite who genuinely couldn’t see the benefit of email and web access, there were nine more progressive thinkers. And out of those nine there were a few early adopters who happily handed over another couple of thousand quid for us to build them a website. This was back in the day of our ’4 page, mini site’ which was the silver level of our corporate web packages. It was a great time to be selling all things web, a mini gold rush. We had small, rent free offices, a handful of staff and clients with low expectations, having never had access to the internet before or a website of their own. In those days we built websites using FrontPage (!) and optimised them for Netscape and early versions of Internet Explorer. It was when you’d fill out Yahoo’s site submission form and the next day your client’s link would be on page one of their search results. Happy, heady days.

Then came along the old TLA or three letter abbreviation. CRM, SEO, SLA and so on. The internet boom got hijacked over night by venture capitalists desperate for their slice of the online dream. The industry got more grown up and you had to pitch for work. Pitch! Before, you’d turn up, give the spiel and come away with a cheque and all of a sudden we were being asked to compete. This meant much more work to win business but those that you did win were also worth more.

After a few years building the client list, it became obvious that the goal was not selling the website, it was selling the marketing of the website. The ongoing churn of work to optimise, promote, innovate. Much easier to keep an existing client happy than find a new one. And more satisfying too. As a starry eyed 23 year old I was having a hard time getting a client to believe that his clientèle would use their website. He thought none of his ‘ladies who lunch’ would use email, let alone buy online. So, out on a limb, I told him I’d be sending him a marketing pack to help him find out the truth. So I sent him a pad and a pen and told him to put it on his reception desk with a note which offered one of their customers a free month’s membership if they gave their email address. Within a week he’d agreed for us to start building their new website. That website now generates well over £1m a year in revenue and sends products all over the world. That’s not just because I suggested it, it’s more that he put his faith in his audience and let them decide.

And that’s the crux of it. The ‘build it and they will come’ ethos is no longer true in our new democracy. This is the age of abundance; no longer are we forced to choose from a short list of prescribed services, we now have numerous choices for everything we want to consume. Granted, the amount of crap is up a million percent but the cream will always rise to the top. So this is the age of ‘ask them what they want built and then they will come.’  Brands who still believe that they alone are in charge of their online success or failure should watch their backs. Companies who refuse to collaborate with their customers may as well switch their websites off. I remember a meeting 3 or 4 years ago with a major toy manufacturer where we discussed open forums and blogging. They were paranoid about customers visiting their website and bitching about their problems and faults with their products. I told them that those conversations were already happening elsewhere on the web. And that they had no control, no right of reply over it. Wouldn’t it be far, far better to invite those comments and be able to deal with them one bitch at a time?

My Starbucks Idea is about the simplest way I can explain all of this. Never again can a customer complain about how something is run. If they have a better solution then here’s their forum. A platform designed by the big corporate company for the customers. They post their idea, other customers vote for it (or not, such is the new democracy) and the best ideas get developed. Starbucks win on so many levels. Firstly they give customers the right of reply which has massive PR value and second they get access to millions of ideas for free. Google allow every member of staff 20% of their time for coming up with new ideas to suggest. One year over 40% of all new Google innovations came as a direct result of that time. It’s the same with APIs and the App Store. For all of Apple’s clout and their ability to hire the brightest, most gifted staff, they’ll never be able to hire all of the world’s best people. So by opening things up and inviting others to come along, they get better products, more word of mouth, further market share.

Really, nothing’s changed but the platform. The best brands have always collaborated with their audience but since the world got online and made available the tools for companies to directly and immediately connect with individuals, everyone can do it. They don’t all do it right, far from it in fact, but the playing surface is much more level now and that’s why, whether you’re Nike or Joe’s Shoe Emporium, you can make it online.

Is it just me or does everyone find their thirties a bit odd? At 34, I’m not fully qualified to comment but I am in the midst of a strange era of my life. Apart from the lack of questioning these things that comes with being in your early twenties, there’s a decade which needs little explanation. Your twenties are a voyage of discovery which you start as barely an adult and end supposedly having found your niche. Careers are decided, started, tweaked and then developed, ‘life partners’ are found, tweaked, moved in with and perhaps married and for some kids also start arriving.

Your twenties are so busy, there isn’t much time for introspection; it’s the decade where midweek partying and hardwork don’t need to be mutually exclusive. Old enough for responsibility but young enough to be cool. Not yet old enough to feel the judgemental eyes you’d get a decade later. Not yet fully laden with cynicism, still optimistically naive. Preferring to crash on a mate’s floor than fork out for a cab, being bothered to go to the coast on the one hot day a year, doing stuff on a whim. All luxuries simply afforded yet rarely appreciated. At the time at least. When your thirties (and kids) come along, you appreciate the freedom. Rose tinted appreciation, however; you can easily gloss over the hangovers, the skintness, the bitching.

We often ask why we didn’t do more in our twenties before Jake came along, when our best mates lived 50 metres away and the world was our oyster. Then we realise. We didn’t go on shopping sprees at the drop of a hat as we couldn’t afford the hat. We didn’t drop everything to party in Thailand for the same reason. I don’t know why we didn’t go to the cinema more though! The point being is that we have more money now but everything we want now costs £500 or more.

So, you get over the whole turning thirty thing, you get married, move house, have a kid and then what? It’s difficult unless you have a trail blazing career which demands most of your time, to settle into being content with a quiet life. I can see that I’ll be happy doing very little when I’m older but not just yet. When you have teenagers tearing about the place, I can see why you always tell people you want peace and quiet for Christmas. It’s because you’re knackered. But I’m not knackered yet. I play footy, squash and walk to work so I’m active. I’m tired because Jake doesn’t sleep much but other than that, I am in my prime. So it’s probably understandable that I’m struggling a bit to know which way life is supposed to go from here. I understand that the craziness of the last decade has been archived and what I’m supposed to do during the mellow later forties onward but what now? Perhaps it’s because of uncertainty with my job which leaves me time to think but I find myself ever looking forward. To when the loft conversion is ready, the next holiday, the next baby etc. What of now? Why is it that we struggle to just be? Always questioning our and other people’s motives for each and every action. I envy people who seem to take it all in their stride but I also realise that they’re probably not as blissfully content as they appear to be.

I’ve always been too much of a brooder, far too analytical. Maybe that’s what the rest of my thirties is for. For chilling out and for not trying to solve non-existing problems. Time to accept that life is so much easier when you don’t care if you’re cool or not. Time to enjoy children growing up. I’m sure in ten years’ time I’ll look back at this period as my kids are smashing the house to pieces, as a peaceful time which was so much easier!

Growing up I had a fascination with serial killers. So much so it worried my parents. I think a lot of us are drawn to the macabre, lured by a lack of understanding as to how certain people can do certain things. I don’t think it was unhealthy. After all, a fascination with serial killers isn’t on the usual list to which criminal profilers refer. Like arson and abusing animals as a child or an obsession with martial arts and hardcore pornography. Or living with your mother above a pet shop. I don’t know exactly why I found such awful people so interesting but I do know I found the dead ones or those whose crimes were decades ago more exciting – if that’s the word – than those still alive and certainly more than crimes which happen now. Perhaps that’s the last bit which separates me from the nutters.

For instance, whilst the Raoul Moat saga unfolded live on TV last week, I was nothing like as into it as when I first read about Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker, who was killing in the 80′s when I was just a little boy. I guess it’s the infamy that death (or the awaiting of a death sentence in this case) brings. It’s more that writers have investigated, that psychologists have tried to explain (often without conclusion) which makes me read on. When I was 13 or 14 I subscribed to a fortnightly serial killer publication and have both binders. Since the dawn of the internet I’ve re-read stories about all of my ‘favourite’ serial killers. It sounds sick to say favourite; I don’t mean it as in, I like or agree with what they did, more that their particular stories intrigued me most. Those twisted souls, so deranged, misunderstood or just plain evil who did things so unspeakable, so foreign to the rest of us, they make you glad you’re nothing like them.

To make the lives of those hunting them that much more difficult, they are not all cut from the same cloth either. Compare Dennis Raider, or the BTK killer (Bind, Torture, Kill), a man who killed at least 10 people over 16 years, caught at last in 2005 whilst president of the local congregation, with Pedro Lopez, the Monster of Andes, who molested and killed over 300 children. Raider’s story appeals more to me; it’s not the headcount which is interesting (clearly Lopez is utterly deranged), it’s the way BTK slipped in and out of regular society, holding down good jobs, positions in society, Something drove him to kill and kill again and whilst he could stop, sometimes for years at a time, his compulsion to control and take life always allowed his demons to return. By the way, in the end, he was caught after sending a floppy disk goading a local newspaper which contained meta data identifying him directly – a classic case of police having to wait for technology before getting their man.

I could go on (and on) about the various men I’ve read about but the Yorkshire Ripper was one which particularly gripped my attention. Pre-dating Ramirez, he was arrested in 1981, convicted of killing 13 women and eventually sentenced to a minimum 30 years meaning that he could be released next year aged just 65. His initial plea was not guilty to murder but guilty of manslaughter due to diminished responsibility on account of his killing prostitutes as an act of God (despite not all victims being prostitutes).

At 65, most men can still kill. However rehabilitated, anyone who’s killed 13 people – whatever their defence – will always pose a threat. The risk would never be justified let alone the public outrage. Should Sutcliffe, or Peter Coonan as he is now renamed, ever be released he would surely never be able to return to society without significant disguise and 24 hour protection. Lynch mobs would certainly form. Some may say that’s what he deserves, however I believe, for the worst criminals at least, that a life rotting in jail is the only way to truly punish.

Glad then I am, that today, a judge ruled that no parole date will ever be set for the ripper. He will never be a free man again. I like to think that this ruling is based on his crimes more than on the outrage should any other course have been taken. His was the highest profile of any such investigation of the last century and any other eventuality than his dying in prison would only serve to make the families of his victims suffer more.

There can’t be many kids who’ve flown eight flights before their second birthday but Jake is lucky enough to be one of them. Only possible thanks to my dad’s hard work in building two places abroad that we can get to fairly cheaply. These last two flights were potentially the trickiest in terms of keeping Jake quiet as he’s so much more aware now than he was on previous trips. Last year we went to Spain twice and Italy once and he slept a lot of the time; too small and feeble to fight his natural urges. Now, however he is all over the place and certainly doesn’t get the whole having to wear your seatbelt thing. To be fair to him he was pretty well behaved both out and inbound having only the odd melt down.

As Clare was already in Spain on a girls’ weekend, I made sure I had literally everything I could think of to keep him calm. Bob the Builder on a portable DVD player, all of Shaun the Sheep Volume 1 as well as painting and flash cards apps on the iPad, a sticker book, The Hungry Caterpillar, grapes, raisins, corn snacks, puppy 1 AND puppy 2 and in all he did o.k until his ears popped. Rage ensued, perhaps understandably. I ended up carrying him sideways from the plane to the car hire place as his epilepsy neared its climax. Luckily I had lots of friends to help with luggage and he eventually dropped off en route to the villa. Clare took over as soon as we arrived and I’d survived the 3 day singleparentathon. It was actually easy in the end and we had a real laugh together. For all his new tantrums and frustrations at being not quite communicable he’s so much more fun now. Speech is developing at break neck speed and we can have a conversation of sorts.

He absolutely loved the pool and I had one of those moments on the second day that all new parents wait for. It basically involved chucking Jake as high into the air as possible and catching him again after a good dunking. The look on his face each time and his constant ‘maw, maw, maw’ followed by ‘pweese, pweese, pweese’ entertained all of us the whole week. Over stimulation came at a cost however and both going to bed and staying asleep proved testing. After 7 adults had spent all day taking turns to keep him laughing the last thing he wanted was bed. Bedtime was later just because everything is later in Spain and then actual sleep was later still owing to the screaming and I think this contributed to earlier wakings too. Most mornings I would wake up to find him in our bed (having slept through his crying and subsequent transfer by Clare), so we made do on about 6 hours’ sleep a night. Not enough to come back relaxed. Especially when you factor in the wine.

He’s also fallen for me much more than before. Maybe it’s the endless games of football I play with him or the time in the pool, but it’s always been Clare he went to. Now we share his adoration and I’m glad it’s more balanced. Having someone think you’re the bees knees is pretty awesome even if you’re not!

All in all though, it was a brilliant week and he and I bonded like never before. I think it’s taken me a lot longer than lots of other dad’s to get this feeling but it’s all consuming now and I’m really pleased about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved him to bits since we got the news about his cleft but with the operations and countless sleepless nights and all the other frustrations of becoming a father for the first time, it is easy to focus on the negative. The might sound harsh but it’s my honest truth; as I’ve said plenty of times before, it’s my blog and I’ll write what I want!

Spain won the world cup and we were all in town to celebrate. Probably the only time I’ll be on the same soil as where the winners come from!.

Photos of the trip here

Well that was fun. I really needn’t have worried, none of what I wasn’t looking forward to occurred. Despite all my efforts to ensure the hangover was as bad as I feared it would be, it wasn’t. I left feeling tired and a bit washed out but mainly really pleased that I’d been.

When you charge £185 you pretty much ensure that what little scum makes it through is easily absorbed by the majority of PLUs (people like us) to the point that it is not noticed. At V, scum is the default it seems. Then when you pay another £115 per head to stay in a ‘special’ campsite you guarantee clean toilets, clean showers, a pre-erected tent and and 100% PLUs.

The weather was incredible. The English are typical though. For all of June I’d been praying for sunshine and happy to settle for anything but rain. We got sunshine but it was of the relentless Spainish type. To the point where people were getting firstly a bit burnt and secondly a bit sun stroked. 3,000 casualties in fact. Naturally, being the responsible adults we are, we ensured we were properly hydrated at all time and the beers runs are much less of a pain when there’s 8 people to share a round with. The best thing about Glastonbury is its size. It’s vast – it takes an hour to walk from one side to the other when sober in normal shoes and during good weather – it’s easy to leave your group to get drinks and refind them. At other festivals it can be near on impossible due to space restrictions. We were never right at the front but still it was brilliant not being rammed it everywhere we went.

My great pal Simon explained that they’ve had 40 years to get it right and they really have it down. There’s bins and toilets everywhere and wide enough thoroughfares to ensure nowhere gets too clogged with bodies. You really feel like their overriding agenda is to make the experience as fun and hassle-free as possible as opposed to other festivals where it’s more about making money.

Here’s who we saw:

Snoop Dog, Mumford and Sons, The Black Keys, Groove Armada, Jackson Brown, Seasick Steve, Martin Harley, Biffy Clyro, Scissor Sisters (feat. Kylie), Muse, Slash, Ray Davies, Jack Johnson, Faithless and a load of other random dance and unknown people along the way.

The standout for me was Slash. Anyone that knows me knows that I grew up on G N’ R and they are my absolute favourite band of all time bar none. I think Appetite for Destruction is the most complete album of all time. I saw them at the end of their record breaking world tour (2 and a half years) at Milton Keynes bowl in ’94 and have waited to see Slash play Sweet Child O’ Mine and Paradise City again ever since. I knew he’d be good as I’ve recently downloaded his new collaboration album (Ghost, Starlight and Back from Cali the best tracks IMO) but I didn’t realise he’d bang out the old classics now he’s so obviously minus Axl. He’s found a guy, Myles Kennedy who, again IMO, is every bit as good as Axl. Obviously you can never replace Axl’s personality or voice entirely but this guy had the perfect Guns voice and absolutely smashed it. If one moment of the whole weekend was enough to justify the £600 or so it cost me, this was it and I’m so pleased I saw it, drinking beer in blazing sunshine whilst simultaneously missing England getting comprehensively and deservedly thrashed by Germany.

By 9pm on Sunday I was done and decided to split before Stevie Wonder. I think I did a good job of staying the distance with my childless friends and therefore felt justified going back to the tent with a burger and for one last beer. As Stevie started his set (which I could easily hear from my tent pod), the rest of my mates arrived back. Nice to be vindicated!

We all passed out listening to Superstition and Sir Duke, a weird but awesome way to top an amazing weekend.

If you’re here due to an email I just sent you, then Hi! I would urge you to read this post which talks about my reaction to my shiny new iPad, then this post which shows some properly innovative, out of the box thinking and finally please read my thoughts on Facebook here.

Hope to talk to you soon.

James

When you think of Glastonbury your mind conjures images of rain, mud & crusties. Three of my least favourite things in fact. So why spend £185 on a ticket after resisting for so long? Having seen the lineup this year, I’m still not sure. And having vowed after the last time I went to the V festival, never to spend three drunken nights under canvas again, I’m puzzled even further. However as time goes by, you begin to make lists of things to do before you die and you find yourself capitulating on things you’d have previously remained steadfast.

But festivals are great, right? Well, yes they are, they can be brilliant and in fact the last two Vs I went to were a lot of fun and the sun shone and we all got drunk and I do look back with fond memories. The problem is not the festival, it’s me. I suffer acutely from a few things that others find only mildly irritating. First up is lack of sleep. Ever since Clare told me she was pregnant I started to dread the sleepless nights which for most people last a few weeks or months, but for us are ongoing even as Jake approaches the ripe old age of two. Give me one sleep deprived night (and I’m talking anything less than 6 hours – it used to be 8 though so I’m getting better) and I’ll bounce back. Give me two and I go a bit quiet. Give me three though and I’m nobody’s friend. Especially not my own. Women seem to cope so much better with the whole lack of sleep thing. Maybe they just cope better but feel awful anyway. Whatever, sleeping half (or more likely, fully) cut on a single mattress next to a friend in a sweaty, fart infested tent is not conducive to a good night’s kip. So I’m expecting day three to be a low point regardless of what the weather does.

Next up is the hangover. Since Jake was born, I’ve probably upped my alcohol consumption in terms of regularity but reduced it in terms of volume. I used to get horribly pissed; the kind of drunk where even your very drunk friends realise that now is the time to take advantage. I’ve been shaved, locked in toilets, drawn on, dragged outside, you name it. My maternal grandad was an alcoholic and they say it’s in you so perhaps those days were a warning sign! Anyway, the point is that because I don’t go out ‘on the lash’ nearly half as much as I used to, my tolerance for the lash is duely diminished. But that doesn’t stop me of course;

me: ”That’s my limit lads, I’m off for a cup of Bovril and my book. Na night’

the lads: “Good for you. Cheerio”

If only it worked like that. Of course I do have some self control and will exercise it right up until the point of no return. The problem with three day festivals is that you start off with all the enthusiasm of a man just released from prison and you finish like a man who wants back in. Anyway, if I can manage to keep things sensible, perhaps I’ll come back having enjoyed myself but without the stabbing pain in my liver.

Next, the weather. I’ve very lucky whenever I’ve camped whether it’s been at a festival or just, erm, camping. The last night (the dreaded last night) at V 2007 did start raining though. It was as if to taunt me. Things had gone brilliantly and all I had to do was get one half decent night’s kip and I could go home and sleep it all off, thus coming up smelling of roses around Wednesday time. But tip it down it did and just the site of students mudsliding at midnight made me feel borderline suicidal. Determined to sleep I got into my tent whilst the others stayed up talking utter bollocks for the next 6 hours. I drifted in and out of sleep and each time was subjected to another pearl of wisdom from the 4 man tent next door in which 8 people were smoking. I also had that desperately-need-a-wee-but-can’t-be-arsed-to-get-my-shoes on-and-find-the-loo-but-if-I-don’t-I’ll-never-be-able-to-sleep thing going on and at one point even had to laugh at the fact I was on my knees, head arched into the top of the tent pissing into a half full bottle of Evian. Half full, oh the irony.

Glastonbury must be the unluckiest place on earth in terms of summer venue where only the weather can spoil the atmosphere. It’s like when you plan your wedding; the one thing you can’t predict is the weather and you hope upon hope that of all things it doesn’t rain. And then it fucking tips it down. As if a message from God with him sticking his enormous middle finger up at you and saying ‘you can sort the small stuff, but I control this weather son’, just so you know who’s really in charge. Anyway Glastonbury’s enormous and I’m told quite a few people go along so mud pies quickly turn into quagmires. I’ve decided that the only way to ensure good, or at least indifferent weather is to bring suntan lotion, sunglasses, waterproof trousers, a poncho, woolly hat and gloves.

Finally, the line up. I’ve always thought Glastonbury was a bit arrogant making people pay up months in advance not knowing who’d be performing and this year especially so. I’m going to this year’s festival in particular because it’s the 40th anniversary and I thought they’d pull out all the stops. I was thinking the Rolling Stones – now there’s a band – Led Zeppelin – ditto, U2 etc. So when U2 were confirmed along with Muse and Stevie Wonder I was reasonably pleased. Or satisfied rather. I’m not a big U2 fan but as anyone who goes to gigs will tell you, when you’re there bands sound so much better. Pink’s tame radio fodder for example was incredible live at V. And at least they have a decent back catalog and could easily smash out a 2 hour set of classics to finish the night off. Then Bono got too close to the edge or something and knackered his back. Cue excitement from Jimbo, maybe now we’re going to get a huge act that I really like. Green Day, AC/DC, Oasis or the holy grail, Metallica.

Cue Gorillaz. I’m not kidding either. Someone seriously thought they’d replace one of the top 3 or 4 bands in the world, with a 25 year, multi-award winning, numerous world wide sell out stadium tours, 100 million albums sold track record with an animated cartoon band fronted by the international cock sucker that is Damon Albran. Talk about OMG. I’m still incredulous. Seasoned Glasto friends tell me that the main stage is never the point of the festival and there’s loads more to see when the masses are crammed in to see the headline, but still. I’m definitely one for value here. How much were they paying U2 and as if those monkeys will command the same fee. “Yes, but they stepped in at the last minute, they were av-ail-able”. No shit, I’m available, would do it cheaper and I can’t sing or perform either. What a horses arse.

So, you’d be forgiven if this post makes me sound like I’m not looking forward to going but I am quite exited about it all. As I mentioned earlier, I’l be looking forward to day one immensely (other than the headliner), day two less so and with the exception of seeing Slash, day three even less.

Monday morning week, I’ll be hugging my knees and wondering where it all went wrong.

As any gadget freak will tell you, the anticipation of owning the object of your desires is almost always greater than the joy you get when it finally arrives. Not so the iPad. O.K, it’s been just under two weeks since I took delivery of my shiny piece of the Californian dream but I’m still in awe. And the anticipation was HUGE. As I wrote on an earlier post, I can’t remember ever looking forward to owning something as much. Googling ‘iPad’ was as much a daily ritual as checking my emails first thing. Apple did a great job, as it always does, of hyping this thing to death and I suppose knowing that it would come one day but not knowing when that day would be only increased the excitement.

Anyway, arrive it did and I’ve been glued to it ever since. Not owning an iPhone or iPod Touch has probably helped me love it more as it’s the first time I’ve had that interface all to my own. Even with a military grade Zagg screen protector – especially now the air bubbles have gone – the touch response is sublime. There’s a guy on the iPad presentation (the one who looks like he can’t believe he’s alive, he’s so happy) who says that ‘it just feels right‘ and he’s not wrong, using it is so natural and all credit to Apple for making a screen which just works so perfectly.

I’ve read loads of ‘I lived with it for a week and here are my thoughts’ type blog posts and the majority of them focus on what it can’t do. I suppose a negative post gets more clicks than a positive one, but as I don’t have ads to sell on my site, I don’t have to temper my opinions (I write this shit for fun!). I bought the iPad for what it can do not what it can’t and maybe that’s why I’m so pleased with it. I didn’t buy it to take pictures with or make phone calls or write my thesis. No, I bought it to do all the stuff I bought my laptop to do, but then never did because it’s so fricken heavy and the charger needs its own bag.

Here’s what I did. Uploaded photos, uploaded a few tunes, bought a couple of movies from iTunes (as well as downloading and recoding a couple of others) and then got a whole load of apps. I also set up my two main email accounts and got all my bookmarks into Safari. Ever since I’ve been tinkering and tweaking settings and getting to grips with it. I thought it would be a hassle taking into work everyday but it’s really not. Although it is quite heavy to use for prolonged periods, it doesn’t seem to add much weight to a bag and I have a charger at work as well as home so that’s not an issue either.

Here’s how I’ve been using it. Obviously I’ve shown it to everyone I’ve met and they all coo. I’ve shown people the photos application which is really good but I’ve not added any more photos since. I’ve shown them the iPod functionality but I’ve not used it as an iPod (although the built in speaker is surprisingly good) and I’ve shown them some of the apps. In terms of day to day use, I’ve used email heavily; much more than I thought I would, mainly because of the push feature which I’ve never had before. I know I must be the last person to still get their emails manually on a mobile but now I get it, and it’s brilliant! Naturally it’s been a great couch browser and I’ve watched a couple of the films on the train and a recent camping trip.

Best apps I’ve got were as follows:

1. Twitterific – top class interface which works as well as the iPad does

2. The Solitaire – I know this is lame, but even after all these years I enjoy playing it

3. xFeed – for rss feeds

4. Rightmove – even though we’re not moving, it’s a brilliant app to keep your eye on the market. It remembers your settings so every time you open it, it displays all houses on the market in your chosen area and budget

5. Guardian eyewitness – every day one photo is uploaded from a Guardian photojournalist somewhere in the world with a pro-tip. Really impressive images

6. Touch hockey – addicitve game, perfect for iPad

7. Sketchpad pro – this is brilliant, I just wish I was better at drawing!

8. FlightCtrl HD – another addictive time waster game

9. A load of kids colouring-in and flash card apps. Jake’s not quite as interested as I wanted him to be but he’ll get there soon.

I’ve installed a few others and also got rid of some of the crappy ones (which shouldn’t have even passed Apple’s scrutineering IMHO) and some I’m reserving judgement on for now.

I think we get bored of our gadgetry once we’ve bought it for a couple of reasons. One, perhaps the device doesn’t live up to its hype, two, the novelty wears off and perhaps three, we just get used to it. Whilst I am used to my iPad, I can’t get bored of it as there’s always something new popping up. That’s the beauty of it. For everything the iPad can’t do right now, you just know there’s a guy in his bedroom writing an app to sort out.

In summary, as you may have guessed, I love it. It does exactly what I wanted it to do, it’s so much more portable than my laptop and for all those that said ‘it’s just a big iPod touch’ and wanted it to be a disappointment I can categorically tell you that it’s not. So get over yourselves already and go buy one!

Hope this works…all the reviews say it’s pants.