The future of journalism

Dedicated blipper that I am, to prepare for a forthcoming voyage on my canal boat and to avoid the need for any back-blipping, I have ordered a device for loading photographs on to my iPad.

Of course being an Apple product, delivery doesn't come via the Royal Mail but by a private mail operator. Also, being Apple, they will not allow the product to be pushed through the letter box or left with a neighbour or in my greenhouse. It has to be signed for.

Not being in when they tried to deliver, I had to visit the mail firm's website and choose either to collect or have it redelivered. I chose to collect it, from their premises at Trafford Park. I drove there today, with the requisite two forms of identification.

"Ah" the chap said "it is on a lorry being redelivered."

"But I visited the website and said I would collect it."

"OK, I'll have a look."

He did.

"Oh, so you did."

He then rang the driver and asked if he could deliver it when I get home later. He said he would "try." But otherwise I would have to call back tomorrow.

Well, he didn't so I will.

But on my way home I started noticing some interesting buildings on the vast, maze-like, Trafford Park Industrial Estate. They included this old, seemingly closed, Hotel.

And my blip, glimpsed as I drove for the motorway entrance.