My battle with the New Age makes a flash in the pan of the Hundred Years War. I have had a calendar watch for twenty years and I still cannot set the date. My Weather Master refused to disclose the temperature. I tend to wander off in department stores whilst my wife chooses the clothes she will inevitably return on her next visit. I have had four mobile phones to summon help but have not so far been able to make a call.jThe all-singing, all dancing scanner/printer won't but the Digital Voice Recorder seemed a gift from heaven. Speak your thoughts and watch them appear as if by magic on your manuscript.
Simply a matter of slipping in the CD provided, following the instructions which will appear on your screen and it's away dulled digit. Except that it wasn’t. The process defeated two highly trained computer mechanics when I failed. I took wider advice. Upgrade it, I was advised. So I set aside Dragon Speaking 10 and bought Dragon Speaking 11 CD.
That didn’t work either so I contacted Amazon for a refund. No can do, said Amazon. You have already opened the envelope. I wondered how I could have found out it was the wrong software without opening the envelope. But I contacted Nuance who supply the software and a nice chap said, “What software have you got?” and I told him with quiet pride I not only had Software 10 but I had also paid £40 for software 11, and he said “Well neither is any good.” Olympus had given me the wrong software, he said. But obliging chap that he was, he offered to download software 10.1 which he said was the appropriate CD, and he did.
I keyed it in and clicked where ordered. At first everything went as promised and then I was instructed to key in my customer number and it was rejected. I tried again and again. I was rejected. All over the next two days I tried and was rejected again and again.
At this point I must have lost my nerve because I went scurrying back to a nice lady at Nuance with whom by this time I was on Christian name terms. She very kindly tried the download herself and said it had worked for her. So I went back to the keyboard and this time a notice appeared saying it was a zip file and if I would press the download button all would be well. So I pressed the download button and got a notice saying if I would press another download button my problems would be over.
At this point my typing finger objected. It said it was working harder than ever and I had told it how I was going to make things easier for it. I was in no mood for argument so I rapped its knuckle and it went on its weary way. This time pressing the button brought a notice from someone called Reg Work, saying there were 165 errors on the machine and offering, very sportingly, to clear things up with a free trial. Up to this time there had been a noticeable shortage of gift horses so with a glad cry I complied. And that pressure on a button brought a bill for £34, which I thought might be my one finger getting its own back, but I paid and got another button telling me that my life would be made easy if I backed up my files. By now I was too weak to demur and that cost me another ten quid. I forget what the next tempting offer was but I know that when I had accepted it I was down £100 over a five-minute involuntary spending spree. So I emailed my friend Flora on Nuance in a craven bid for sympathy.
She obviously had summed up my degree of technical expertise by this time because she said probably the best idea would be to ask Olympus who sold the recorder to send me a CD 10.1 which would get round the problem with ease.
And there the matter has ended and I await the next email with a nervous Cousteau-like twitch.
Except that I got an email from some one called Trial Play telling me that my Winzip software was ready and if I would press the download below it would be delivered. I pressed the download and nothing happened. By this time I was whimpering noisily so I emailed Trial Play support and back came an email quick as a flash. It said they would answer my esteemed enquiry in 48 hours.