15 December 2016

Updateski

SMEOD strikes at the West.

By Chin Chin

Down at the Quai d’Orsay, the successors to Maigret are lighting their pipes.  “Mais pourquoi?” they ask themselves. MI5 have told them that a cybercrime is being planned but it seems so senseless that it is impossible to build up a picture of the suspect.  “Parblue, what is le motif?”ponders the Chef D’Intelligence, as he takes a sip from the brandy which he has poured to steady his nerves.  Is it really true or is it a trick of les Anglais perfides?  If true, does it matter?  If a trick by the British Government, then what can he do? Should he apply to the examining magistrate for a warrant to arrest the Queen?

No, the story must be true.  It has le logique. Everyone knows that Kremlin-sponsored tweeters influenced the result of the US presidential election by spreading false news.  Next year there is a French election.  The British Secret Service think the Ruskies will try their tricks again but this time in France.  It makes sense.  France is culturally more important than America.  The food is better.   It is inconceivable that elections in France are of no interest to the Russians.  Yes, it must be true.  Only the Quai d’Orsay stands between Putin’s candidate and the Elysee!

The difficulty, of course, is to know which Putin’s candidate is. Once the debris has been swept aside, it will be Francois Fillon v Marine le Pen.  M Fillon lays claim to Thatcherite values, hardly likely to commend themselves to the Russian leadership.  Ms le Pen is, well, not as left-wing as all that and has a family history which makes it unlikely that her attitudes are mere cover.  But whichever the Kremlin prefers, why bother? Everyone knows that the French public will resist to the death any attempt to make changes. What will influencing the election achieve? Why spend time tweeting and hacking when you could be drinking good vodka?

That is the question we all ask ourselves from time to time.  We are told that Russian hackers, or at least Eastern European ones, are doing their best to peer into our computers.  They want to read our emails, look at our Facebook pictures, see what books we ordered over Amazon.  Why are Russia and its satellites pouring money into this apparently pointless surveillance?  Are there large sheds deep in Siberia where white-coated operatives spend their days cross-checking the information, asking why I, Chin Chin, moved from one internet site to buy identical goods on another and why I do not appear on the electoral roll?

The answer to that is “yes”, but the rationale is rooted in Keynes rather than le Carre.  In these difficult economic times countries have to find ways of boosting employment by inventing useless jobs.  In France they place those who would otherwise be unemployed in kiosks on motorways to collect tolls, a task which could easily be performed by machines.  Germany employs them in its universities.   Russia has been more imaginative.  The secret organisation, Social Media Exploitanka y Outlook Degradeski (“SMEOD”), employs thousands and thousands of people to both use and disrupt the electronic communications on which the survival of the West depends.

It may be understandable as a way of reducing unemployment, but it is also rather a nuisance. There you are, sitting at your desk, trying to make an appointment on the phone.  Your diary is on the screen before you.  SMEOD is waiting its chance. “Just a moment,” you say. “I need to check my availability next week.”  The chance has come. Somewhere in Siberia a button is pressed by the secret watcher and the dreaded word “Update” appears on your screen. A message purporting to be from Norton or Microsoft, or even the dreaded Outlook, then tells you that an update has commenced which will take a few minutes.  Obviously as you cannot see your diary you cannot make the appointment but you don’t want to give your client the impression that you cannot control your computer.  It is time for small talk.

Those who work in radio will tell you that timing is the most difficult part of their job.  The reporter gets to the end of an item and then, to his horror, sees that its successor is not due for another twenty five seconds.  He needs to improvise.

“This area has always been known for the quality of its oysters,” he intones desperately as pictures of tanks rolling across the Sahara dominate the screen.  Well, it may sound a bit odd but oysters have been  rather on his mind since he ate one with a slightly odd taste last night in his hotel.

The difficulties of someone whose computer updates as he or she tries to make an appointment are rather similar.  In fact they are worse.  True, some sort of pleasantry can always be generated, although people think it odd if you asked after their wife or children in the middle of a business call.  No, the real trouble is that you don’t know how long the updating will take and, once you have started to blether, it becomes increasingly difficult to get off the line.  It is too late to say “my computer is updating, I will come back to you” because it should have been said earlier.  The only way to escape embarrassment is to smash a glass, make a terrible gurgling noise and then quickly put the receiver down.

Meanwhile, back in Siberia, Nikita is boasting to his boss Vladimir.

“Did you see how much of Mr Chin’s time I wasted by firing off an update?” he says.  “More than 1% of his week lost.  If our workers could all do that we would make a corresponding reduction in British GDP and they would not be able to afford their Brexit”.

“Alrightski,” says Vladimir, “you have had your moment of glory, Nikita.  I’ll take over the Chin account now.   It’s time that you shared in the drudgery.  Get onto Twitter and see what effect you can have on the French Presidential election.”

 

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