For months, my MacBook Pro has been on the blink. Hanging regularly like a PC, the rainbow wheel-of-death spinning endlessly. Crashing every time I perform an update, only to be kick-started by an emergency call to Apple support. I knew it had to be replaced but, to be honest, I’d been procrastinating. It was an expense, for a start, and I’d have to decipher terms like Intel Core and GHz, PCle-based flash storage and LPDDR3, decide what data to transfer and then set the whole computer up, complete with passwords for every application. Yes, I know, a first world problem, half the world does not have access to clean water and I am bitching about buying a new MacBook.
The thing is, I’m in research mode, so I’m spending more hours reading, jotting and imagining than I am serious word crunching. As consequence, I’ve been able to place Great MacBook decision on the back burner. Until last week, when my iPad became terminally ill, the battery draining away like blood from a beast. Damn, thought, I’m going to have to go to the Apple Store.
This is no great chore. To take my iPad to a warm, well-lit store, where a friendly young, tattooed technician wearing a navy blue T Shirt, would fix my problem free of charge. But I’d have to schedule an appointment, drive to the store and find a parking spot when I could at home be reading books on Owain Glyn Dŵr.
I drove to the appointment, parked, drank my obligatory Westfield coffee, topped up on Body Shop supplies and arrived in time for my session. The Apple store attendant hooked my iPad up to his iPad, pronounced my battery dead and told me he was going to give me a replacement. Just like that. A new iPad. I’d have to set it up, of course, and, when I visited mum on the way home, we’d have to squint at pictures of Charlie on my iPhone. But, hey, first world problem, right?
Mum and I managed to adore the phone-sized images of Charlie. But I can tell you I felt pretty angsty knowing my iPad was lying dormant in my bag. It was akin to the feeling I’d had in Corris for seven months without the stunning scenery and the music of the Welsh language to compensate. As soon as I arrived home, I fired it up, chose my language and region, launched the set up process. I chose to restore from iCloud <insert shaft of ethereal light and booming God voice>.
But here’s the rub – iCloud told me I had no back ups. Really? No back ups! Could The Cloud lie? My iPad and phone back up automatically whenever they are on WIFI. But no matter how many times, I tried to restore, The Great God of the Cloud said, No Back Ups. I turned to my MacBook. No problem, I’d restore from iTunes. Except, my computer had joined the evil circle of doom. No matter what I tried, the damn thing would not sync with my iPad. I rang the Apple support team. We set the iPad up as a new product. The guy assured me, we’d be able to connect to The Cloud once I’d done a software update. I managed to connect to WIFI. But my back ups were still missing. I rang Apple Support again. The team member got me to log onto iCloud on my phone. There was nothing there. Do you hear me? My cloud was empty! Panic washed over me in a series of hot waves. I had an app with all my passwords, thousands of words of notes and research, all backed up to The Cloud.
The young woman was well trained. ‘I can tell that you are upset. Let’s go through the situation one more time. I want to make sure I am understanding you correctly.’
Upset! I was more than upset.
She went and talked to her supervisor. ‘Your apps aren’t lost,’ she said. ‘You simply need to go to the app store and download them manually.’
‘What about the data,’ I repeated. ‘My notes, my research, my passwords.’
‘Your data will be there somewhere,’ she said, ‘if you’ve backed up to The Cloud. But we can’t take responsibility for individual apps. You may have to contact the developer.’
By this stage it was getting late. I suggested we schedule a call for the morning. I still had my iPhone. Proof that my data was out there somewhere. If we couldn’t get it from The Could, I’d simply have to transfer it manually. Meanwhile, I’d still be able to do my banking, keep appointments, phone my ageing mother, email and send text messages. I plugged the phone into the charger and tried to adopt an attitude of Christian calm. Though, I have to admit, libations and small animal sacrifices did cross my mind.
I woke the next morning with a jolt of recollection. Apple would be calling soon. I picked up my iPhone. It was dead. I kid you not. The screen was black. I pressed the button. The battery showed a thin red strip. I must have knocked the USB cord out by mistake. I pressed it into the plug. Nothing. I jiggled, tried another plug. By this time I was wide awake. I scuttled about the house plugging and unplugging my iPhone. Nothing. No life. No lightning bolt. No ding. My documents, my research notes, my passwords, all gone. Vanished.
I made myself coffee. Lit my candle. Placed it on my Welsh tapestry placemat. Sat staring at the flame. Call me a slow learner but I realised some decisions had to be made. I needed a new MacBook, to somehow find my documents in The Cloud, and get my phone working. Meanwhile, the Apple gods must have been working overtime. My iPad calendar and contacts had filled up overnight. I started downloading apps manually. I opened, aNote, my note-taking app (chosen for its rainbow coloured folders). Set it up to sync to WIFI. Nothing happened. I sent a note to the developer. Within half an hour I’d received a reply.
We have analysed your log file, it has not downloaded data from iCloud. You have a lot of notes. Please wait until download is completed.
The developer gave me a list of instructions. I went into preferences, turned buttons on and off (as you do). Went into the app, followed Mr aNote’s directions to the letter. Powered the iPad off and on, took a deep breath. Waited thirty seconds. That’s the magic number right? Then pressed the button. The Apple logo appeared, my home screen. I opened aNote. My data had downloaded, from The Cloud <insert: hallelujah chorus>, where it had been safe all along. I still had to organise my apps into categories (hey, I’m a librarian), change my language preferences to Welsh, log into each individual app, get my phone fixed, then buy a new MacBook. But those are first world problems, right? Nothing to complain about.