Bringgg! It is the telephone. My mobile, in fact. (Mental note: must change that default ringtone to something more pleasant.)
“Hello? Is that Charles Arthur?”
“Are you still technology editor of The Independent?”
I’m so stunned by the question that I have to count back to work out how long ago it was I left. “No, not for the past 18 months. Who says I am?”
Equally stunned silence from the other end. “Oh – it says here you are. This is one of the newer versions of Mediadisk we’ve got it off. Nice to know what we’re paying for,” she says, in an accusing tone clearly aimed at the CD-ROM in front of her, which surely is even now cowering in its case.
“Who does it say edits the technology section of the Guardian?” I ask, intrigued. Unfortunately she can’t answer this question. Possibly she’s already torn the MediaDisk CD-ROM limb from digital limb in her teeth.
Gotta love those guys. Possibly they sent me a piece of paper (paper – I ask you) to correct my details a while back. I’ve honestly no idea – in our house, paper rapidly gets collected into piles which unless they’re cheques, contracts or say FINAL DEMAND are then either (a) turned over and used for drawing or (b) skimmed and binned.
Poor MediaDisk. They try, but keeping track of journalists by expecting them to fill out bits of paper is about as effective as a pedal-powered tractor.