Losing yourself…

About once every year, I like to log in to Ofcom’s website and re-validate my amateur radio licence. I do this so that it becomes a sort of habit, and so that I’ve no risk of going beyond the statutory five year limit.

This year, my login details didn’t work. It turns out that Ofcom have upgraded their online systems and I need to re-register. Provided that I use the same email address, they’ll match up all of my details.

Or so the theory goes. Sure enough, the system found my name and my address without issue, but sadly not my amateur radio licence. Instead, I’m now the holder of an old club callsign which I used to use when running a radio club at a school in England about 16 years ago. My actual licence and callsign is nowhere to be seen.

This matters, and not just for the legal reasons of needing to have a licence to transmit. To radio amateurs, your callsign is your name. It’s your identity. It’s how people recognise you. It matters when it’s gone. That’s why the right to personal identity is recognised in international law through a range of declarations and conventions.

Anyway, I’ve spoken to Ofcom on the phone today. Twice. They’re very polite and helpful people, but they can’t fix it for me. I’m waiting for a call back at some point today.

I don’t like being an unnamed, stateless individual. I want my identity back!

Reconnecting with Nature

During a recent holiday in England, I spent a few days in a location without any links to the internet at all. No mobile phone signal, no WiFi hotspots. Nothing.

It was interesting to see the impact this had. There were countless times when I wanted to check something on a map. Or the opening times of a shop. Or get the latest news or weather forecast. Without realising it, I have become an autonomous and habitual user of Google and suddenly found myself disconnected.

At some point during those few days the frustration of not having instant answers to questions was replaced with a sense of calm. A distant remnant in my brain remembered a time when this was normality. When there was no internet, no smartphone.

I began to feel more aware of my surroundings. The birdsong. The vivid green of the grass, the blue of the sky. You don’t need a weather forecast when you remember that you have eyes and can look up at the clouds to judge their size, speed and direction and make an educated guess. Who needs a map when you’ve got the sun and the stars?

Being offline for so long has been good for me. Maybe I should do it more often.