I outfoxed the whizz kid who wouldn’t stop talking about blackberries

Nov 16 2008 by Mike Lockley, Sunday Mercury

I think that means I’ve got to take pictures, as well.

The whizzkid had picked on the wrong bloke.

When I was young there was only one computer, called Ernie, which simply spat out Premium Bond numbers - despite being the size of a football field.

I never understood why they didn’t just get a bloke to pick the numbers out of a hat. But my teacher said computers would one day make hats redundant.

He was wrong.

My 1967 ‘Eagle’ comic Christmas annual, which claimed by 2001 those left on Planet Earth following a bitter war with the ‘Thrals’ would live underground to avoid the poisonous atmosphere, was wrong also.

Shame that - I was quite looking forward to it. If I’d known the comic was going to be that wide of the mark I would’ve tried harder to get O Levels.

“This is a ras card,” said the computer expert holding a wafer-thin piece of plastic aloft.

I asked what a ras is. I’m interested because my mate calls spending a penny a ‘was’.

The chappie seemed baffled. “It doesn’t matter what a ras is,” he huffed. “It’s just a name. The important thing is that by installing your ras card into your laptop...like so...you have internet access.”

This endorses what I’ve believed for some time: there’s a geek out there giving pieces of hi-tec kit preposterous names as the fancy takes him. I refuse to follow the herd and told the young man lecturing me that I intend to call my ras card a ‘gimp’.

“Call it what you like,” he said, dismissively, “just don’t break it.”

“And,” I declared grandly, “I want to call my laptop a knee funkersizer.”

“Sooo,” he sighed, “from now on you intend to insert your gimp in a knee funkersizer.”

Too right.

“Take care of this,” he said, tapping the sliver of plastic, “if you lose or break it, it’ll cost you £400 for a replacement and the company will...oy, don’t put your mug on it!”

If the thing’s so precious why don’t they make it the size and weight of a brick? Of course I’m going to lose it. I once forgot to collect my son from primary school: what chance has a little piece of plastic got?

“Now,” continued the computer bod, “do you possess a blackberry?”

I gave the bloke a ‘what-the-hell-are-you-on?” glance, said I didn’t, but was pretty sure there was an apple in the fridge.

He ignored the remark.

“You are going to need a blackberry,” he insisted.

I try not to stuff my pockets with berries. I did it once at school and the purple stains on my trousers wouldn’t wash out.

“A blackberry,” sighed the IT chief, “allows you to scroll through emails on a mobile phone.”

“What a bloody stupid name for it!” I howled.

“It’s perfectly logical,” snapped the geek. “It’s a blackberry because it’s black and round.”

So’s next door’s cat, but I don’t call her a grape.

“Right,” he added, “you need a password which must remain confidential. It will be yours and yours alone – don’t give it to anyone else. During the course of your work, you will be receiving highly sensitive emails....”

“...I don’t ask for those messages from someone called ‘Olga’ about ‘enhancement,” I blurted.

After an uncomfortable minute’s silence, the IT guru snapped: “Come on, come on – what is it? What’s your password.”

Not telling. I don’t break that easily. He’d have to at least buy me a coffee first.

“You can tell me, he shrieked. “I’ve got to key it in. Now, come on – give me a password containing six characters.

I thought on my feet. “Sleepy, Sneezy, Doc, Bashful...”

“What are you doing?” he moaned, casting his head to the heavens.

They’re characters in Snow White.