My i-less iPad

I ordered a new notebook today. Not a shiny, whirring Windows machine with too many acronyms and numbers in its name, but an actual pile of paper with some tape and glue holding the leaves together. Original, eh?

Years ago, I tried the abomination of the Filofax, an organization system that took more organizing than the disorganized areas of my life it claimed to be able to actually organise. Ironically, I used more pages writing things like “buy more Filofax pages” than anything else. It was the paper-based equivalent of an abusive relationship; a self-perpetuating reminder to fuel the Filofax’s own greed and narcissism. Recently, I tried to make full use of the functions on my iPhone, by introducing my busy social life to its calendar. A quick review (it is now June) shows my last activity of note to be in late April – a football match – and prior to that, March. Can that be right? Is there an ethereal Steve Jobs clone somewhere hacking into my Apple calendar and drawing the conclusion that I am socially retarded and incapable of planning even the merest of objectives? No ‘do shopping’ or ‘get laundry’ (although that last one would mainly consist of asking the wife nicely), not even a ‘birthday’ or ‘anniversary’? Not so much an indictment on my social life as it is on my data entry skills -that makes me feel so much better.

At work my Outlook calendar holds mysterious, colourful banners bearing the legends ‘management meeting’ or ‘monthly update call’, all coded into rows in nice colours dictated by a notional Microsoft-defined category that we all conform to. Is the Christmas break really classed as a ‘birthday’ to an atheist? In my Outlook-land it is, and to hell with the consequences. D’you see what I did there?

My guilty secret is that, much as I am proud of my coloured tiles and precise timings, I actually only do it that nicely because I know other people look at it. No, I’m afraid that my life depends on my notebook (the wood pulp kind) and the very disorganized scribblings therein. They are sometimes cryptic, with a half-life measured in days before they become irrelevant even to me. I am tempted to ring some of the numbers just to find out who is on the other end – speed dating for contractors and managers.

In my current book, I have planned a house move, new kitchen, new garage, a child, a racing car, one Lithuanian Navy destroyer and a Lifeboat. Quite apart from the work meeting notes, actions and ringed email addresses, there are scattered references to train times, resistors, disciplinary hearings, puff pastry, funerals, spice racks and a fish tank. A tidy mind is a healthy mind, apparently; if the same is true of notebooks, will someone please page Doctor Legg?