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Steve Jobs was a technical genius. He and his colleagues bought us the Mac, the iPod, the iPhone to name but a few Apple products.  Indeed, he started the i revolution.

I held out against buying an iPhone or an iPod for several years, purely because I didn’t want to assist Apple’s bid to take over the world. Eventually I gave in and I’m very happy I did so. (Even though a friend of mine had to take charge of loading my iPod for me as I couldn’t work out how to do it. It’s taken me 4 years to figure it out).

I’m sure Steve was a lovely man, with a fascinating history and a tale to tell.  He was certainly a marketing wizard, what with his branding, staged product launches and innovative packaging methods.

That’s why I bought his highly recommended biography, by Walter Isaccson, as part of the Other Half’s collection of Christmas presents.  I thought that a) he would enjoy it and b) given the role of the Apple product in today’s society it would provide an insight into the man behind it all.

What I hadn’t bargained for was that it would be roughly the size of the Oxford English Dictionary.  It is a tome. You could use it as a very good doorstop, a weapon to stun burglars, or stand on it if you need a bit of extra height to reach something.  And it’s a tome with Steve’s face on the front – and the back.

This has turned out to be important.

Because, reader, I now go to bed every night with Steve smiling at me.  And given the length of the book, this situation is going to continue for some time. He peers through his glasses at me, gently stroking his beard, as he joins in the nightly mutterings and catch ups.  He practically shakes his head when he disagrees with something, and you can almost see him grin if he finds us funny.

This is not my over active imagination. I promise. Judge for yourselves (if you haven’t already bought it and have your own mini-Steve to contend with):

Biography of Steve Jobs Apple

Fresh fear struck last night when the Other Half commented that he’ll still be reading it when we go on honeymoon.

Is nothing sacred, Steve?

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