Dyslexic? Mot knee.

You know, it's a strange thing, the relentless march of technology.

The latest manifestation of its influence on our lives (or at least my life) came just now while I was writing out a couple of Christmas cards to send to my parents and sister. For the first time in my life I shan't be spending Christmas at home, so I have to send cards - and cheques for the Christmas pressies, since my attempts to buy on-line, with the exception of a CD for my eldest niece have met with utter failure. This largely because there is a discrepancy in what size coat Mum thinks she needs and the actual size coat that will fit. And Dad has suddenly, after 85 years grown an extra shoe size. Send money, Bryan, don't try to be clever; it rarely works.

Anyway. Technology.

These days I only ever seem to use a pen to write the odd cheque or sign my name, other than rapidly scribbled minutes of meetings in my own illegible speed-written shorthand. Proper handwriting for anything longer than say 10 lines is almost unknown and has been for some years. Except at Christmas, when cards have to be written. Sure, they also get written at birthdays and such, but it's only at Christmas that the volume handwriting kicks in. Everything else conforms pretty much to the ten line rule.

I am happy to say that I still remember how to write with a pen, and my hand writing is pretty much as it always was; I haven't forgotten how. When I'm not rushing I like to think that my handwriting is clear and relatively pleasant to look at, but by crackey, am I rusty.

I kept missing letters out while I was writing - my brain was moving much faster than my hand (and anyone who's met me will testify as to how astonishingly slow my brane works)- and my eyes were watching in detached astonishment at the foreshortened words that were coming out of the pen.

At some point over the past ten years, I have switched from being a writer to being a typist, and unless I can think of a reason for picking up a pen in anger more often, I don't see how the situation will ever revert, or even if I want it to. But it's a really odd feeling, realising that you are so out of practice using a pen to write, that you have to think about it a little.

Dyslexic? Mot knee.

You know, it's a strange thing, the relentless march of technology.

The latest manifestation of its influence on our lives (or at least my life) came just now while I was writing out a couple of Christmas cards to send to my parents and sister. For the first time in my life I shan't be spending Christmas at home, so I have to send cards - and cheques for the Christmas pressies, since my attempts to buy on-line, with the exception of a CD for my eldest niece have met with utter failure. This largely because there is a discrepancy in what size coat Mum thinks she needs and the actual size coat that will fit. And Dad has suddenly, after 85 years grown an extra shoe size. Send money, Bryan, don't try to be clever; it rarely works.

Anyway. Technology.

These days I only ever seem to use a pen to write the odd cheque or sign my name, other than rapidly scribbled minutes of meetings in my own illegible speed-written shorthand. Proper handwriting for anything longer than say 10 lines is almost unknown and has been for some years. Except at Christmas, when cards have to be written. Sure, they also get written at birthdays and such, but it's only at Christmas that the volume handwriting kicks in. Everything else conforms pretty much to the ten line rule.

I am happy to say that I still remember how to write with a pen, and my hand writing is pretty much as it always was; I haven't forgotten how. When I'm not rushing I like to think that my handwriting is clear and relatively pleasant to look at, but by crackey, am I rusty.

I kept missing letters out while I was writing - my brain was moving much faster than my hand (and anyone who's met me will testify as to how astonishingly slow my brane works)- and my eyes were watching in detached astonishment at the foreshortened words that were coming out of the pen.

At some point over the past ten years, I have switched from being a writer to being a typist, and unless I can think of a reason for picking up a pen in anger more often, I don't see how the situation will ever revert, or even if I want it to. But it's a really odd feeling, realising that you are so out of practice using a pen to write, that you have to think about it a little.

Dyslexia (anag).

I write this in the full knowledge that I am not being very politically correct. So no change there. Anyway, the people most likely to be upset by the idea won’t be able to read it.

Following on from yesterday’s post, I find myself wondering why people who have dyslexia aren’t good at anagrams. Or rather when presented with an anagram, they should just copy it out in the knowledge that there is a good chance that a real word will emerge. Depending on how you pitch the idea, this could be a valuable service to both crossword solvers and setters.

Talking of anagrams, it occurs to me that dyslexia is an anagram of daily sex.

My spelling would go out of the window too, if I was getting any that much.

Dyslexia (anag).

I write this in the full knowledge that I am not being very politically correct. So no change there. Anyway, the people most likely to be upset by the idea won’t be able to read it.

Following on from yesterday’s post, I find myself wondering why people who have dyslexia aren’t good at anagrams. Or rather when presented with an anagram, they should just copy it out in the knowledge that there is a good chance that a real word will emerge. Depending on how you pitch the idea, this could be a valuable service to both crossword solvers and setters.

Talking of anagrams, it occurs to me that dyslexia is an anagram of daily sex.

My spelling would go out of the window too, if I was getting any that much.