I am trying to work out how to change the screensaver on the Us Pad and finally decide to enlist the help of Our Jack.
show him the photo which his cousins, Katie and Eleanor, have installed as a screen saver - a photo of the two of them with twisted, gargoylish faces. How do I change this for something more wholesome, a picture which will not draw strange looks from anyone
who spots it?
"Don't you remember what I showed you last time?" asks Jack - but in a mildly amused tone not an accusatory one. He sounds like a favourite teacher,
going over a difficult lesson with a hard-working but hopelessly muddled pupil. I will remember next time. I think.
Our Jack is the helpful type, never one
to ignore a Nan in Distress, especially if it means he can get his hands on the Us Pad and introduce it (and its co-owners, Mr B and me) to more exciting applications. He shows me how cousins Katie and Eleanor created their gargoyle pictures, using something
called Photo Booth. He illustrates the amazing properties of said Photo Booth by taking a number of photographs of me using facilities called Twirl, Light Tunnel, Squeeze and Thermal Imaging. I am not the most photogenic of people at the best of times so it
is possible that these images may be an improvement. Possible, but unlikely, I'd say. I am struggling to imagine a reason I might have to use Photo Booth but can only think that it will do my street cred good if anyone should happen to spot it on my screen.
Along with GarageBand and other apparently useful apps I can now use if only I can remember what Jack taught me about them.
What can I say about Our Jack on his
sixteenth birthday that will not embarrass him? Bearing in mind that his mum, the Youngest of the Darling Daughters, has already posted on Facebook photos of him on every birthday since he was born. It had to be done, she told him, stoutly, when he discovered
what she had done over a hasty breakfast to allow time to open a few presents before catching the school bus at 8 am. He just groaned.
So I will resist recounting
the many "Jack-isms" which have had us howling with laughter over his childhood years and concentrate on the young man he has become. The young man who attracts little kids like the Pied Piper and never turns them away when they beg for shoulder rides, wrap
their arms round his legs so he can't move or follow him wherever he goes, trying to copy the way he walks. He is, in short, their Hero. He is the young man who sings like an angel and creeps into the conservatory at every opportunity to play on the piano.
"Has Jack been practising?" his piano teacher apparently asked his sister, Hazel, this week. "Oh, yes," she replied truthfully, without letting on that he was teaching himself to play Bohemian Rhapsody instead of practising his Grade 6 pieces. He is the
young man who can never see a stray cat without welcoming it into his arms. Who submits to his Nan's over-enthusiastic embraces with a charming lack of apparent embarrassment.
Who has - I have just discovered - installed his own gargoyle pic as my screensaver, to replace that of his cousins...
Our Boy Jack.
One in a Million.