Friday, February 1, 2013

Judging Alex - Take Three (The Happy Ending)

Now, look. You don’t have to read this. 

So any of you people out there telling me to go get a life (yes, I know life is short and I should shut the hell up and go sell candy floss on Venice Beach or whatever) . . .  SHUT UP.
This is the third part of the trilogy of my misplaced interview with the brilliant Judge Alex and, believe it or not, some people are genuinely interested in hearing how it ended (see parts one and two for those of a narrative bent).
Or, rather, let me tell you how it didn’t end.

In the absence of a recording, my imagination had the chance to concoct many things. Not only was I engaged to Judge Alex (we have yet to break it to his wife), I was married to Robert de Niro, who proposed to me while holding two bananas (okay, it was a dream, but WTF was that about?) and I was a grieving widow at the tomb of Marlon Brando. Well, me and a horse’s head, but you get my drift. I was very, very stressed.
Los Angeles does strange things to me, but anyway, back to Part Three of of iPad Loss: the Movie . . .
FINALLY, I got hold of a police officer in some godforsaken part of Florida, who went to the address displayed by Find My iPhone (or Pad etc). No answer. She informed me that she had spoken to the neighbours and that the person in question travelled a lot. I liked this officer. She was giving it her all, which made me think this was the biggest case she had ever been given. “There are four houses on this block”, she told me, with ill-disguised incredulity. “No kidding!” I responded, unsure whether this was a good or bad thing for me.
Was he, “the perp”, I ventured ( I watch a lot of TV)  a “bad” person. Silence. I quickly realised that in the US, there were things I was not able to say such as . . . “Was he/she a . . . ?” You see? I can’t even print it.
Having imaginatively administered smelling salts to the officer, after my politically incorrect question and establishing that the “perp” did not appear to be a dot dot dot dot dot dot (honestly, I swear they were calling paramedics to the officer, such was the impertinence of my question), the officer admitted that no, this did not appear to be a “bad” person. Not the kind of person who would steal a Judge Alex Voice Memo, I ventured. Er, no. But, should I wish to call back over the weekend (when the officer was away), I should feel free to ask them to visit the perp (my words) again.

I wasn’t hopeful. So, plan two. The brilliant actor and presenter Stephen Fry (who happens to be a friend of mine – though not in the Biblical sense LOL #geddit?) has over five million followers on Twitter, so I thought it would be a good idea to ask him to Tweet about my dilemma. He did. And how they responded! I was an idiot for not having backed everything up (I had); I should speak to Apple (Geez! Even my mother does not talk to me as often as these people); I should check iTunes (DUH! I am not a moron!).
Then, amidst it all (the needle in a five million people haystack), the answer: iPad only backs to iPad, not to iPhone (thanks to Apple et al, for all that wrong advice). But, then, not so good – it doesn’t back up APPS.
Wrong! I bought another iPad and ticked back up 13th January 2013 (interview had been 10th January). I watched. I waited. The clock ticked. It was the longest 10 minutes of my life.
And then. There it was. They were. Seventy five minutes, plus another . . . oh, who cares. My Judge Alex was back. His voice. His laughter. In my excitement, I nearly pressed “Delete” - but, reader, did not (you will be glad to know).
I have spent the past seven hours boring everyone person who stood still long enough, informing them of my love affair with the iCloud, to which I owe my life, my sanity.

Thank you, Mr Steve Jobs, for looking down on me and saving me from ignominy. 

And thank you, gorgeous, dear Stephen Fry, for your lovely words - yes, life really does sometimes reward good people – and for your kindness; life is 100% better tonight than it was yesterday.
As for Judge Alex, I am back in the dock (in my dreams), where I belong. Handcuffs optional.

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