I.T. in Middlethorpe

We live in the high technology computer age.

From the gas bill through the computerised bank statement, every aspect
of our everyday lives is controlled by little screen with their
blinking cursors.

We place a great deal of faith in them don't we. Who really checks
their shopping bill after the cashier has zapped every bar code in our
shopping trolley and hit the total button whereupon the conflict
between inflation and impulse buying becomes a stark reality?

Most of us simply sigh, get out the cheque book or the credit card and
sign on the dotted line.

The others of course get out their gold credit cards simply to be able
to swagger in front of the lesser mortals in the queue.

Then of course where would we be on a Bank Holiday Monday without the
dreaded bank "Hole in the wall machines"? There we are flat broke and
because so many hundreds of people have plopped in their personal PIN
numbers in front of us we can get any service we like..except of
course, any money...

HI TECH MIDDLETHORPE

M

iddlethorpe in the Mire has oft' been described as "A small Hamlet,
nestling serenely in it's own brand of congenial squalor, picturesquely
lying within the County Borough of Toddlesworth on the
Pee..Domestically, nothing has changed. Since time immoral little
change has occurred in Middlethorpe. 'Tis a place of true blue Tory
blood, staunchly Royalist. A place where the residents drift off to
peaceful sleep usually counting sheep and the sheep, especially the
female ones, drift off to sleep ewes-ually counting people.

Commercially, however, Middlethorpe was about to undergo a
revolution....'Tis for this reason that we find Samuel Fludgates,
Manager of the Middlethorpe branch of the Toddlesworth and District
Mercantile Bank, nestling less than serenely in his own brand of
acrimonious self pity in the corner of the lounge bar of the Wise Owl
Tavern with a big hanky in one hand and a stiffe drink in the other.
(Stiff drink supplied by Joshia Stiffe and Reprobates, purveyors of
fine traditional ales brewed with (river) Pee water.)

"Well that's it then." sighed Sam.

"What is?" questioned his Worship the Mayor, Albert Stoic esquire who
happened to be the only one in sighshot.

"It." confirmed Sam.

"It is?" enquired His Worshipfulness.

"Exactly." replied a sorrowful Sam, assuming all would be understood
but actually explaining exactly nothing.
"The shareholders want it, the Bank's decided to buy it, and I've just
been on this course to learn all about it."

Albert thought he, Albert, had learned all he ever needed to know about
it behind the bike sheds at Toddlesworth High School for Delicate Young
Ladies, but doubted if that was the "it" to which Sam was
referring.

Seeing Albert's furrowed brow, Sam explained.

"IT..Capital I, capital T...Information Technology..You know computers,
Hardware, Software, all that sort of thing..Head office has decided
that we have to take the Bank lurching and screaming into the nineteen
nineties...I've been accused of being behind the Times."

His Worshipfulness thought that was grossly unfair. He'd never seen Sam
behind the Times...behind the Ferret Racers Gazette, maybe...

"I've had two specific instructions." replied Sam. "The first is to get
computerised. The trouble is I find all this computer jargon all so
damned confusing...It's all done in acronyms."

Fred the landlord began to listen in, and, Sam, sensing Fred's unease
but not wishing to name names........

"Or for the benefit of anyone who doesn't know his acronym from his
elbow, it's where you take the first letter of each word in a phrase
and turn it into another word...Now you might believe that a RAM is a
male variety of sheep...so it might be but it also stands for Random
Access Memory...Then there's ROM.."

"Which stands for..?" enquired Fred...

"Read only memory...I think..I can't remember...Then there's
DOS..that's Disk Operating System...not an inebriated kip..There's
dozens of 'em.."

"So what was this 'ere course like?" enquired Fred.

"They called it Computer Realisation And Performance." came the
reply..

"Sounds like a right load of..." ventured Albert.

"Acronym." finished Fred.

"That's it exactly," moaned Sam, and the conversation was back where it
started.

"You know," began Fred. "I think all this modern technology has gone
too far. What was wrong with good old fashioned quill and parchment,
that's what I'd like to know? Maybe we should go along with the new A4
paper sizes, maybe the ball point pen but that's where we should have
drawn the line."

With an Imperial or a Metric Ruler?" prompted Albert.

Sam swallowed the bait.

"Our Dear Queen.." he began, but he was interrupted as everyone in the
bar stood up saluted and said "God bless 'er". (Well, I did tell you
that Middlethorpe was staunchly Royalist!)
"...is still her IMPERIAL majesty and still gets measured in feet and
inches. I bet that she...."

Choruses of "God Bless 'Er" echoed once more.

"...can still remember when a metre was something fitted to a bleedin'
taxi or periodically read by a duly authorised member of the Gas
Board."

Albert thought he might try to explain the two spellings of
metre/meter...The thought passed.

"What about the Bank staff?" enquired Fred.

"You'll never teach old Miss Bertram new tricks like that."

"I know it. You know it...But just try and convince the boffins at head
office that. Do you know when the rest of the Country went to decimal
currency? I'll tell you. It was nineteen sixty something..and to be
exact it was on St Valentines Day..or was it St Georges? And when did
Middlethorpe follow suit.?..I'll tell you when. Last Thursday week. Why
last Thursday week..?"

Neither Albert or Fred could remember last Thursday week being a Saints
Day.

"I'll tell you why. Cos it was only last Tuesday week that two of the
"How many pennies are there to a shilling?" beads fell off her abacus
and rolled under the carpet...So now at least we count in tens...Mind
you according to Miss Bertram there are now twenty ten pence pieces to
a pound...Can you just imagine what would happen if she we unleashed on
a multi colour, umpteen function, graphically equalised, self rounding
up, auto-calculating, profit and loss account. The computer might just
blink...The mind would boggle."

Albert wondered what had happened last Wednesday week.

Fred remembered it was early closing day.

Neither of them thought it was a Saints Day..or was it St
Andrew's?

"Then of course there's our cashier Alice Mablethorpe...Well you know
what a shy and sensitive soul she is..."

She never used to be, reminisced Albert to himself as he recalled
elicit encounters behind the aforementioned bike sheds....and she was
no Saint either..on any day of the week.

Sam was still speaking.

"To her, Hi Tech is one of them there Yankee private eyes with an
office in the penthouse. You know what..? She accused me of being a
dirty old man......

Albert thought that was ridiculous...Sam was only thirty seven.

"Took me ages to convince her that syntax had nothing to do with VAT on
the services of a maiden of a house of ill repute...When I tried to
explain megabytes we weren't even talking the same language. She
thought I meant a double hamburger and a plateful of chips. But then
the final straw came....."

Albert suddenly realised the seriousness. In every other conversation
he'd had with Sam, the final straw wasn't mentioned unless they were
discussing Albert's overdraft.

".... All I did was tell her that every morning before she started work
she'd have to come into my office so I could format her
floppies."

Sam sunk into despair.

"I've got the answer!" exclaimed Fred. "A pint of beer."

"Fine sentiment thanks Fred, but drowning my sorrows wont help."

"No, but drowning a computer keyboard with a pint of bitter liberally
spilt round the qwertyuiops just might."

"But that would be such a waste." replied Sam, at least somewhat
cheered up.

"But the bank can always get a new computer." replied Albert.

"No you stupid Worshipfulness...A damn waste of good ale!!!"

"Anyhow," asked Albert. "I thought you said Head Office gave you TWO
instructions..."

Sam was dreading that question.

"They did." he replied sheepishly. "They've told me to stop paying you
interest on your overdraft."

His Worshipfulness was gobsmacked. He said so.

That wasn't quite what he said ...but the sentiment was close.