Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Wednesday, 3 February 2016
DJ Derek and cyber magic
If you walked into a pub or music hall when Derek was playing music, you would have expected to see a black West Indian on the other end of the mike, playing pounding Reggae and interspersing the tunes with comments made in a strong Jamaican accent, but when you finally caught sight of the DJ, you saw a small, elderly, Jewish, white man.
I really don't know how Derek started his career as a Reggae DJ, or even found a place in the hearts of the real West Indians who surrounded him at his gigs, or the place where he lived in St Paul's, Bristol. Anyone else adopting this style would have been considered an insult or piss-take, but Derek became an honorary Jamaican through sheer gall. He got away with it, and got away with it in style. Normally, instead of an ordinary microphone as in the photo above, he would have a vintage red telephone, through which he could hear the tracks as well as speaking to the audience - no headphones. This made it look as though he had a hot-line to the President.
His ordinary speaking voice was high Bristolian, which is an even more extreme version of West Country than Somerset.
I never really spoke more than a few words to him during some of the many trips he made to Bath, but many of my friends knew him well and booked him for events and music nights as much as possible. He was in great demand.
Well, at some point last year, he walked out of his house and has never been seen again. A campaign to find him has been running for months, but people are beginning to lose hope now, as he probably would have surfaced somewhere at some point if he was still on earth. The last CCTV footage of him was getting on a bus, and there was one false sighting of him in London which turned out to be someone else. Very strange, and very sad.
Changing the subject, I have been moaning for ages that I cannot get a free upgrade of my O.S. from Mac, despite many attempts and the upgrading of my RAM by +2 GBs (don't ask), so I decided to phone our local Apple shop, here in Bath.
After speaking to a few computers, I got put through to a very helpful, real, live woman, somewhere in the U.S.A.
She got me to perform a few tasks on my machine, then got me to sign a box allowing her to share my screen, which I did. The screen went black, then I saw her move her own red cursor over it, pointing to things whilst telling me what to do over the phone. I was childishly impressed with this bit of cyber magic.
The problem is not yet solved, but will be after she has sent me a bit of software through ordinary airmail, via the U.S. Postal Service and Royal Mail. In my case (the like of which she has never experienced before, she told me - why always me?) the problem cannot be solved using cyber magic alone, but I have to receive and instal a disc, sent to me in a paper envelope.