Gonna get myself connected

This is around the time of year when I usually spend a couple of days at a trade show in Barcelona. In fact, it’s exactly that time of year. I’m writing from my second-floor room at Pension Norma, which translates as ‘hotel rule’ according to my mobile phone. Either that’s very prosaic or my phone’s not really trying. My phone also tells me I’m 655 miles from the nearest pint of Harveys, so perhaps it’s simply feeling a little homesick.

It’s not only my phone that’s pining for Sussex. My wife, along with her teenager and cats, has remained at home. Despite the excitement of my trip, I miss them… and I’m sure they miss me. (Well, to be honest, three of them probably just miss my ability to fill a bowl with dinner at the appropriate time.) Fortunately I should be able to persuade the aforementioned phone to give them a ring.

If you’ve not spotted a theme here, let me explain. It’s going to be a phone-filled week because my chosen trade show is all about mobile technology. And whilst I’m not expecting a great deal of sympathy for my plight, I can assure you it isn’t all tapas and tortillas. There are early starts, crowded trains and traffic queues to contend with before I begin my work for the day. If I’d wanted that kind of nonsense, I’d have found a job in London.

Inside the show, I’m one of eighty-five thousand people milling about. Each exhibitor is doing their best to attract my attention and extend my stay. Curiously, each seems determined to reinforce national stereotypes as well. My conversation with an Austrian company includes a cup of coffee and a marzipan Mozartkugel. The Scottish contingent is hosting an evening of whiskey tasting. A French company has wine while a German exhibitor has employed two Spanish women to wear traditional Bavarian clothing. There’s tea and biscuits when I talk to an English software developer. I chat to him until the biscuits run out.

Back in my hotel room, when the buzz of the show has faded, I call home and catch up with the latest news. All’s well. After saying goodnight, I check for email messages and prepare my agenda for tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy the event – but I’d enjoy it even more if a Spanish day included 36 hours and my hotel room contained a teleporter instead of a wardrobe. I open the Harveys app on my phone again. Still 655 miles from a pint. I walk across the room and stand next to the window. The display changes. 654 miles. I’m feeling better already.

First published on Viva Lewes 27th February 2014: www.vivalewes.com

Looking down on creation

My broadband connection has slowed to a speed that still permits me to work but rules out the possibility of downloading any cat videos. As far as I'm concerned, the internet might as well be broken. It reminds me of the days when I had a dial-up modem plugged into the telephone line, when sending an email was always accompanied by a noise that sounded rather like The Clangers singing barbershop harmony. Before long I may need to find my mother’s old typewriter - stored in the 'things that might be valuable one day' box, along with a couple of blown TV valves and a mechanical cassette tape rewinder - and soak its desiccated ribbon in a bottle of ink. Or perhaps not. I'd probably better stop reminiscing before I start to sound like Rick Wakeman, who's becoming better known for his grumpy-old-man views on body piercing than for playing a prog rock tribute to Henry VIII’s wives.

This technological blip has resulted from living in a village rather than a town, I'm certain. Whilst Lewesians can enjoy super-fast broadband that arrives down translucent fibre-optic cables, we villagers are still reliant on wires that are made from... well, wire, I suppose. You could almost think that broadband providers didn't care about us.

It prompted me to remember a newspaper report I saw a few weeks ago. A recent study at Oxford University touched on the topic of 'short person syndrome', which is the phrase often used to describe someone who appears to be compensating for their below-average height with an aggressive or dominant personality. Researchers created a 'virtual reality' experience that made volunteers appear to be on a crowded tube train where everyone else was much taller than they would have been in real life. It seems the result was an increase of negative feelings and mistrust. It provided useful insight into treating paranoia... but that won't get in the way of a good headline. "Short person syndrome is real", shouted several newspapers, delighting in the opportunity to confirm another stereotype.

All this had me wondering whether there was a similar condition of 'small village syndrome' affecting us here in Ringmer. While many of our local businesses can more than hold their own against the 'big boys' in town, woe betide anyone who suggests any of the facilities here aren't as impressive as those elsewhere. Some may even say a few of those 'big boys' were trying to steal away business from local traders. Are they really ganging up on us?

I put the 'small village syndrome' theory to my wife. "That's rubbish", she told me sensitively. "Ringmer is actually one of the largest villages in Sussex." I dug around in the 'things that might be valuable one day' box and found an Ordnance Survey map. Ringmer certainly does look pretty large. Hang on a moment. The village is 40 metres above sea level. Ha!  We're taller than you.

First published on vivalewes.com 13th February 2014: www.vivalewes.com