The 10 most ridiculous Apple iOS 6 map mistakes

The stretched Eiffel Tower and the vanishing Tokyo station: Apple's new maps don't work too well.

Apple's new mapping service for the iPhone, which is part of its operating system update, is provoking a huge backlash from users, as the system makes mistake after mistake.

Here are ten of the most ridiculous.

1. They shrank the Sears Tower in Chicago:

2. The Manhattan end of the Brooklyn Bridge looks like it's had a bit of an accident:

3. They messed up their image of an Apple store (terrible advertising):

 

4. Helsinki now has a railway station in the park:

5. A greenfield site in Dublin called "Airfield" has been labelled as as an airport:

(Image from Gavan Reilly/TheJournal.ie)

6. A search for "London" sometimes brings you to the one in Canada:

(via ausbt.com)

7. Paddington station's gone:

(via ausbt.com)

8. Doncaster is now only searchable as "Duncaster":

(via phonearea.com)

9. Tokyo station is no more:

(via ausbt.com)

10. And the Eiffel Tower looks kinda odd:

(via theamazingios6maps.tumblr.com)

It seems Apple is taking "think different" to another level.

The earth. Photograph: theamazingios6maps.tumblr.com

Martha Gill writes the weekly Irrational Animals column. You can follow her on Twitter here: @Martha_Gill.

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Would you jump off a cliff if someone told you to? One time, I did

I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain.

Ever heard the phrase, “Would you jump off a cliff if they told you to?” It was the perpetual motif of my young teenage years: my daily escapades, all of which sprang from a need to impress a peer, were distressing and disgusting my parents.

At 13, this tomboyish streak developed further. I wrote urgent, angry poems containing lines like: “Who has desire for something higher than jumping for joy and smashing a light?” I wanted to push everything to its limits, to burst up through the ceiling of the small town I lived in and land in America, or London, or at least Derby. This was coupled with a potent and thumping appetite for attention.

At the height of these feelings, I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain. One of the cool girls started saying that her cousin had jumped off the bridge into the river and had just swum away – and that one of us should do it.

Then someone said that I should do it, because I always did that stuff. More people started saying I should. The group drew to a halt. Someone offered me a pound, which was the clincher. “I’m going to jump!” I yelled, and clambered on to the railing.

There wasn’t a complete hush, which annoyed me. I looked down. It was raining very hard and I couldn’t see the bottom of the riverbed. “It looks really deep because of the rain,” someone said. I told myself it would just be like jumping into a swimming pool. It would be over in a few minutes, and then everyone would know I’d done it. No one could ever take it away from me. Also, somebody would probably buy me some Embassy Filter, and maybe a Chomp.

So, surprising even myself, I jumped.

I was about three seconds in the air. I kept my eyes wide open, and saw the blur of trees, the white sky and my dyed red hair. I landed with my left foot at a 90-degree angle to my left ankle, and all I could see was red. “I’ve gone blind!” I thought, then realised it was my hair, which was plastered on to my eyes with rain.

When I pushed it out of the way and looked around, there was no one to be seen. They must have started running as I jumped. Then I heard a voice from the riverbank – a girl called Erin Condron, who I didn’t know very well. She pushed me home on someone’s skateboard, because my ankle was broken.

When we got to my house, I waited for Mum to say, “Would you jump off another cliff if they told you to?” but she was ashen. I had to lie that Dave McDonald’s brother had pushed me in the duck pond. And that’s when my ankle started to throb. I never got the pound, but I will always be grateful to Erin Condron. 

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser