New Statesman Scotland - Go offline for some humanity
Good things. I want good things. Stuff. Interesting stuff. And my residence on a remote Scottish island should not, must not, get in the way of my desire to consume. If there's going to be capitalism, then I want to do my bit! I wish to consume!
But how? Buying locally is, to say the least, limited. The 40-mile trip to Lerwick, Queen of the Zetlandic Archipelago, opens up all the sweets of shopping at Safeway (a small Safeway) the Co-op and an infinite variety of fenceposts, spares for Ferguson tractors and marine varnish.
But what about the TV-fuelled teenage hunger for peculiar trainers evident in the offspring? What about computers? What about bicycles?
If I can justify it, I buy locally. Last week, I needed to acquire a Mini-Disc recorder in order to function as a remote tellyperson, and, while my producers in London were offering discounts with oddly named hi-tech companies in Tottenham Court Road, I nipped down to Televiradio and negotiated a free supply of software and some Pokemon cards.
But not everything is available as easily, nor has the necessary quality.
Why not use the internet, I hear you ask. Well, I have done. And it's hopeless. I'm sitting here with the full digital monty, ISDN lines, state-of-the-art processing power and a hard disk bigger than Siberia, and the truth is that net shopping is a waste. Of time, effort and money.
The collapse of Boo.com came as no surprise to me, because having flirted with e-commerce (which should be ideal for the remotely civilised likes of me) it has become evident that it is slow, complicated, definitely not a bargain and, leaving aside the problems of security, devoid of humanity. And when I am spending a hundred quid or so, I want humanity as part of the package.
Even in Shetland, I think I deserve that.
We booked our last holiday on the net. Went through the whole process of form-filling, making mistakes, leaving essential fields untouched and having to start again. Then there were the lost connections and time-consuming redialling. And, in the end, what did we have to do? Telephone to confirm.
I have tried to buy computers online and, mired in tautology, failed. Of late, I have returned to catalogues and the telephone, to admirable effect.
Of course, what are known as "club books" hereabouts - mail-order catalogues to the rest of the world - have been used since time immemorial in the isles to obtain everything from clothes to brides. The people who turn up at village hall dances dressed to the nines in Boden all have that company's brochure stacked neatly by the Next, Grattan, Freeman and Index catalogues.
Even Argos does a special shipping service to the Lerwick docks. In every case, though, you can order by actually talking to someone, even if they're stuck in some godless call-centre in a hi-tech Alness hen-coop.
Today I had to buy a bicycle for number four son's imminent birthday. I was determined it should be a good bike, not some glorified toy, and that its components should be of high quality. Nothing like this is available in Lerwick. So I turned to Edinburgh Bicycle.
Now EB (formerly the Edinburgh Bicycle Co-operative) offers secure online purchasing. But, in my experience, I have found that telephoning some of the most knowledgeable specialists in the Scottish biking business is far, far better than the net.
And so, in this way, I learnt from my salesman that his girlfriend, an air stewardess, had spent the night in Shetland the previous week; that the bike I wanted was not as good as another, cheaper model; that, yes, it would be here in time for the looming b-day.
Then there's Carphone Warehouse where, famously, its salespeople do not earn commission.
The one I spoke to talked me out of a mobile costing £200 and sold me a £40 equivalent. Then he negotiated a contract with a service provider his company wasn't supposed to deal with any more, just for my convenience.
Within 24 hours, unbelievably, a courier delivered the equipment to my isolated door. Personally.
The personal touch. A few pieces of paper, a number, a real human being on the end of the line. It gets my vote. And my money.
Post this article to
We want to encourage people to comment on our content and to exchange views with other readers and hope this will be done on a courteous basis. However, if you encounter posts which are offensive please let us know by emailing comments@newstatesman.co.uk and we will take swift action where necessary.
