It’s hard to
remember what life used to be like without a PC and an internet connection. How
did I find time to do all those chores like banking, application forms and research?
I suppose everything just took longer, in which case I should nowadays have more
time to spare for loafing about. Strangely, however, that does not seem to be
the case. In accordance with Parkinson’s Law, the spare capacity has become
filled with other stuff. What’s worse is, despite no longer having to queue at
the Post Office to renew the TV licence and road tax, little of the time saved
has been dedicated to the causes of philanthropy or self-improvement - one
needs a steely determination for that: mostly it’s been squandered on online shopping,
interactive social media and software-management. And while I would never blame
others for my weakness in the face of temptation, in the case of software I
feel entitled to some help.
The last few
weeks have seen the launch of Windows 10, the latest version of an operating
system for Microsoft-driven PCs. I signed up and was duly upgraded from Windows
8 which, by general accord, had been proven to be counter-intuitive, difficult
to navigate, frustrating and time-consuming. Microsoft, realising that
frustrated customers are likely to become ex-customers, decided to fix the
problem by re-designing the operating system so that it is less gimmicky and
more practical. Behind this exercise lies the principle that the system should
mimic the way our brains work and, in this respect, they are making some progress.
When, for example, we want to find a file it is useful to see a symbol of a
file prominently displayed on the screen. But a more ambitious feature -
speaking a request instead of typing it - has some way to go: when I asked “Where
is the Sigmund Freud museum?” the response was “I have no results for the
Sigmund Floyd museum”. My diction or theirs?
But brains
don’t all work in the same way - our cranial operating systems are individually
developed and honed for navigation through the complexities of whatever lives
we experience. We start as infants, pressing the virtual keys of life randomly
to see what will happen; we progress through childhood, exploring their
functions in a more purposeful way; as teenagers we focus intensely on just a
few of those functions; as adults we broaden or strengthen our interests until,
in old age, we are in a position to refine them by ditching those we are
disillusioned with, tired of or no longer capable of pursuing.
The Windows
10 operating system, impressive as it is, takes insufficient account of this
progression. When it loads for the first time the screen fills up with gaming
apps and entertainment gizmos that may be crucial to some users but are of
secondary importance to others. Yes, it is possible to “personalise your
Windows experience” by changing the background theme and wallpaper, but I’m
sure those clever people who write the code could do better than that. What I
would like to see is an operating system that comes ready-tailored so that I
don’t have to spend quite so much time fathoming out what X-box is and why I don’t need it - which would leave more time for
my preferred interests.
How about a
version of Windows with my name on it? Surely all that’s required is some input
from me - date of birth, sexual orientation, cultural and educational
background, degree of curmudgeonliness, inclination to pedantry, aversion to
light classical music etc. - for the developers to make my OS fully bespoke? They
could include, for example, the latest Saga app which could be continuously and
automatically updated as I get older: font sizes would increase, healthcare
apps would be introduced to remind me of doctors’ appointments and medication
schedules. I might finally get some quality loafing time - as long as I can
resist the ensuing bombardment of precisely targeted advertising, that is.
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