Apple falls (reprise)

To be fair to Apple, they kept my booked appointment at more or less the right time, and swapped my dead IPod straight away. I would guess that the fact they have an 'IPod Bar' with a queuing system and cupboards stocked with lots of replacements means that IPods die in fairly large numbers.

The experience was made somewhat more pleasant by finding a near-empty motorcycle parking bay just behind the store, which was free today as it's a bank holiday. However, this is a credit to Westminster Council rather than Apple.

I still cannot see why Apple insists on its mad policy to drag its customers in person up to Regent Street at an appointment time which almost certainly won't be that day if you happen to drop in unbooked. (Apparently you can book in advance online, but that is not hugely obvious on screen.) Now let's see if the new IPod actually works!

Driving me mad

Have you ever...

• Gone through a red light?
• Broken the speed limit?
• Forgotten to check your wing mirror?
• Gone manoevre, mirror, signal?
• Found yourself going the wrong way down a one way street?
• Bumped another vehicle?
• Pulled out in front of a moving vehicle?
• Changed lane or turned without looking properly?
• Driven after drinking?
• Been drowsy at the wheel?
• Skidded because you were going too fast?

We are not nearly as good at driving as we like to think. We make our little mistakes and other people prevent them becoming crashes, as we avoid their mistakes daily.

Because we are in metal boxes, we feel safer to make those mistakes, knowing nothing terrible usually happens apart from perhaps a dent or scrape. But if a driver hits a rider, you still get your dent, but the rider is in trouble.

Apple falls

I am coming to the view that Apple isn't cool, it's shit. I recently invested most of a day trying to ingratiate myself to my nine month old Ipod classic 80Gb and failing to make it hold any of my stuff, despite taking all the advice from the official website and further afield.

So I took it to the Apple store on Regent Street. "My Ipod is dead,"I told them with some certainty. "You'll have to make an appointment," they replied. So I went to the nerd desk, where they said they had not a single 10-minute slot that day. Their bright orange t-shirts said 'help is my middle name', which I tried to remember as they wasted my time through customer service smiles. "Can't I just leave it with you?" I asked. No. "Post it somewhere?" No. "So I have to waste still more time coming back here in person? Why can't you do like anyone else and replace or refund me for this lump of junk?". "Sorry, sir. That's Apple's policy."

Friends used to call me laid back. As I get older, my temperature gauge rises faster. It's probably stress, but crap like this does turn up the heat. Thankfully I only live about seven miles away from Apple's store, or about one hour's travel each way in London. If I'd come in from the Isle of Skye, I would have been worse, perhaps even arrestable!