More on Delicious Library (and Andrew Murray)
OK, it’s addictive. And now they’ve taken it away from me I’m completely at a loss.
I don’t suppose they’re doing it deliberately, but when I launched Delicious Library (what a frightful name!) yesterday it said it could find no data. Fine, it has a back-up archive, so I’ll launch that. Then it said ‘Decompression failed’. Bad news if you’re a diver. And it felt like worse news after I’d spent a month hand-entering 2,403 books, as most of my books don’t have barcodes, and many even pre-date ISBNs.
ARRRGGGGHHH!
So I sent a message to their Help Desk. It’s not like fotoLibra support; they haven’t got back to me within 24 hours. But I shall wait. And report back.
The reason I’m relatively placid about the whole thing is I am sure that the Mac’s Time Machine will have automatically backed up the necessary data somewhere. I just have to find what it’s called and restore it. But why did it go missing in the first place?
More bad news — I’ve been immersed in dusty tomes for a month doing this cataloguing and as a result my skin has become reptilian and scaley because of the embedded dust. Bathing doesn’t get rid of it. It’s the loofah, pumice stone and Intensive Care Lotion treatment for me from now on.
I watched the middle set of the Federer / Murray final of the US Open last night. Obviously I was rooting for Murray, the Brit. And he played breathtakingly well in patches. But he’s ugly, graceless, dull, humourless, monotonous of voice, unsmiling and arrogant, the Kimi Raikonnen of tennis. What’s to like?
Federer is handsome, charming, elegant, and one of the greatest tennis players of all time. And there I was, whooping when he made an error and groaning when the stroppy punk in grey lost a point to him. Funny how strong a grip mere nationality exerts on us.