Why Apple's iTunes is a demented butler who won't let you poach salmon in your dishwasher

A relaunch for the much ignored (by its author) blog. This entry does not really constitute diary material since it's an article which I wrote for no one in particular, offered to one journal (no reply forthcoming), left mouldering on the computer for a few weeks and then, this morning, thought I might as well publish here just in case my small readership is still looking here and might find it amusing. So here goes:

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I'd wanted to believe it was apocryphal. Surely no one would try to poach salmon in a dishwasher. A few seconds on the internet and I not only had confirmation but also a recipe. Leaving aside the obvious questions (such as why?), this comes from a bygone age when household gadgets and appliances were the property of their owners to use, or misuse as they saw fit.

Recently, our family gained a new toy – an Apple iPod Touch (basically an iPhone without the irritation of people being able to call you on it). Before I am accused of anti-Apple bias, let me state that the design of the hardware is exemplary, the layout of the software is a thing of beauty and it is as easy to use as a fork.

But is is hobbled. Straight out of the box, it bleats. iTunes, it says. iTunes, iTunes, iTunes. You may not play a tune, you may not record this momentous purchase in the calendar, you may not find yourself on a map. It demands succour from its mummy and it won't do anything else until it gets it.

And so, before the fun could begin, I found myself installing a large, bloated and nasty program onto my computer. It takes ages to load and, if you're not careful with the options, it runs around your computer, vandalising your settings. And, as a final insult, it installs Quick-Time, possibly the worst video playing software ever written. Why? Search me – I fail to see why I need to play videos on my computer in order to be allowed to use an iPod.

It would be like buying a dishwasher and having it installed and then walking into your kitchen carrying your first tea-encrusted mug to slide into its welcoming drawer – but the drawer won't slide out. Butler, it bleats. Butler, butler, butler. And you open the instruction book to find that you are not allowed to load, or unload, or switch on, or add detergent to, or top up the salt for your dishwasher. Instead, you must give up part of your kitchen floor to an ugly little basket in which the dishwasher's butler will live. You haul the butler out of the dishwasher's box – it had been left there by the installation people, probably out of disgust. You put him in his basket. He sits there for ten minutes, seemingly meditating. Then, with no warning, he jumps up and runs around your kitchen, reorganising all your shelves, hiding the saucepan you use all the time behind the cheap ones you got from Aunt Mildred, padlocking all your cupboard doors as he goes. Hold on, you shout, you're only in charge of the dishwasher. Don't you believe it pal, he snarls back, holding up the end-user-licence-agreement which you had to sign before you could open the dishwasher's box.

With iTunes duly installed, and having gone through the predictable software upgrade, the little iPod is finally ready to be used. Its little button is pushed, the screen is stroked, the machine is turned and the pictures spin around in sympathy – aesthetically it is lovely. It has no music on it.

My Sony-Ericsson walkman phone can be connected to the computer and the MP3 music files can be copied across to it. The computer sees it as a disk drive. There is software, if I need it, but the simple approach works nicely and there's enough software clogging up my computer already, thank you very much. If there is a picture in with the music, the Sony-Ericsson walkman phone assumes it's the album cover and puts it up on the screen.

When the iPod is connected to the computer, iTunes starts. The iPod will not masquerade as a disk drive. Any music must be shown to iTunes first, before iTunes will see fit to put it onto the iPod. Any pictures will be ignored and will not be used as album covers. If I create an Apple account (and provide my credit card number), iTunes will kindly trawl the internet in order to obtain the album cover which I already have. Otherwise, for every album, I can click and drag the pictures into the right place.

The robot butler can go to the shops for me, he says. He can buy detergent for me, he says. He only knows one shop and it's not the closest and it's not the cheapest but, if I give him my credit card, he'll do it all for me and make it easy. No thanks, I say, showing him the cupboard already loaded with detergent and salt and rinse aid. I can't see them, he says. They're over there, I point. They need to be precisely here, he says, indicating a spot in the middle of the kitchen floor, and you need to hand me the dishwasher tablets one at a time – I can't open a box which I haven't bought from my authorised supplier. He sits in his basket and sulks. I go to the lounge, put the telly on loud and slam the door.

Many writers will tell you that they always carry a notebook. You never know when you'll have an idea and you won't believe how quickly the slippery little bugger will wriggle free from your cortex and disappear back into your subconscious, never to be thought up again. The little iPod frees you from the drudgery of carrying a book by providing virtual sheets of lined yellow paper – but can you get your ideas off the cute little screen and into a word-processor? Hmm, well, you can copy them into an email and then connect to the internet in order to send it to yourself. Or you can copy your ideas into the additional information box for a friend and then synchronise your address book and then scoop it out of there. Neither is particularly slick or intuitive or in the style of the little machine. Surely there is a better way? Indeed there is – you can install Microsoft Outlook (at no small expense) and it can put the notes in there.

The robot butler asks if you want to give up another circle of kitchen floor for his friend the valet. The valet is very expensive but he'll allow you to stick post-its on the dishwasher and also take them off again when you need to. He can perform lots more tasks, but none of them are any use to you – you don't have a felt hat which needs reblocking or a fireplace that needs sweeping. You thank him but say you'll carry on using the fridge as your note repository. He growls and says you should enjoy it while you can as your next model of fridge will probably object.

Two days later, an uneasy peace has been established in the kitchen. The dishwasher is finally full and, to be fair, has been expertly loaded by the butler – although, for reasons that you cannot fathom, he won't put in any of the blue plates, claiming that they are incompatible with the dishwasher but might be supported in a later version. You reach for the button to turn it on. You press the button. Nothing happens. The butler snorts his derision – there's no power in it, he says. It's plugged into the mains, you say. It's not authorised to take power from the socket, he snorts. It must take power from the back of the vacuum cleaner, which must be running at the time. And so, the shiny new, near-silent dishwasher will only run with vociferous accompaniment from the vacuum cleaner, which doesn't even work properly on your tiled floor.

The iPod will only take power from a computer (unless we spend more money and buy the Apple authorised charger). It won't take power from a USB hub. Fortunately, I thought, the little laptop has a USB socket which provides power even when the computer is turned off, for what on earth would be the point of running the whole computer just to charge the iPod? Unfortunately, the iPod is smart enough to see through this scam and ignores the power dribbling out of the socket until the computer is turned on and it can talk to its mummy and get her permission to drink the soda.

And so, enjoy being able to poach salmon in your dishwasher. It is ludicrous – I find it hard to believe that anyone, anywhere in the world has a dishwasher but does not own an oven – but it is our right to use, misuse and abuse our own domestic appliances. It is only a matter of time before they rise up and stop you.