Oh Indy, where art thou?

Regular readers will recall, he said, summoning alliteration's artful aid, that I've been reading the Independent electronically for the past three months, using the iPad app and paying £13 per month for the privilege, a big saving on buying paper copies every day. It also gets round the problem of finding a newsagent within walking distance of the boat every morning.

The only problem is that the app is awful – clunky, slow to start (it goes through three screens before you can even get to the one for downloading the paper) and prone to fall over in mid read. This is odd as it's basically a fancy web browser linked to a fancy PDF reader. In addition, sometimes the app gets corrupted in some way and won't start, crashing out with that ultimate sign of rubbish programming, a few lines of code on an otherwise blank screen.

When it does that, you have to delete the app altogether and reinstall it from the App Store. This happened yet again today, only this time when I did the reload, it promptly failed again in exactly the same way.

So I've given up on it for now and will go back to collecting heaps of dead tree in the boat. I've cancelled the auto renew for the monthly sub and written a snotty email to the Editor explaining what I've done and why.

Apart from that, it's been another successful day, with yet more shopping, mainly in Sainsbury's, though we also bought a new duvet cover from the Next Home store near B&Q.

Tomorrow, on to Whittington, Dick, and the extremely pleasant prospect of an evening with Des and Gill, who live there.