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AB5の開発が進んでいますが、皆さんはどのバージョンを使っていますか?
ちなみに自分はAB4.24を使っています。

それと今回AB4.24でクラスに関するバグ(だと思う)を見つけたのですが、
バグ報告所に投稿したほうがいいですかね？
ver2,3はサポート対象外とされてますが、AB4はどうなのでしょうか？
新たに機能等の追加はなくてもかまわないのですが、
バグの修正くらいはしてくださるとありがたいですね。

一応発見したバグ(だと思う)を載せときます
必要があればバグ報告所に載せなおしますが

AB5の開発が進んでいますが、皆さんはどのバージョンを使っていますか?

私は常に最新版を使っています。コーディングしているといつもバグを見つけてしまうので、最新版を使わざるを得ません。というより、ライブラリ開発なので当たり前ですね。

一応発見したバグ(だと思う)を載せときます

詳しい事情は説明に自信がないので省略させていただきますが、たしかAddressOf()でメソッドのポインタを取得してあれこれするというのは、うまくいかなかった気がします。これらは、5.0で搭載予定のデリゲートによって解決することが出来ます。

それはこういう風にすると回避できます。 こうしてAddressOf (EndMascot)の代わりにAddressOf (MascotBasicSystem_EndMascot)とするという具合です。勿論*Sub (ByRef mbs As MascotBasicSystem)と型が変わっていますけど。

それはともかく私はAB5とAB4をいったりきたりです。最近はAB5の方が多いですが。滅多に使いませんがAB2と3もそれぞれとっておいてはあります。

OverTaker さんが書きました:詳しい事情は説明に自信がないので省略させていただきますが、たしかAddressOf()でメソッドのポインタを取得してあれこれするというのは、うまくいかなかった気がします。これらは、5.0で搭載予定のデリゲートによって解決することが出来ます。

SetDropFunction()以外のメンバ関数を同様に関数ポインタで呼び出したときは
上手くいっていたので、てっきり大丈夫なのだと思ってました。

イグトランス (egtra) さんが書きました:それはこういう風にすると回避できます。

コード: 全て選択

Sub MascotBasicSystem_EndMascot(ByRef mbs As MascotBasicSystem) 
    mbs.EndMascot() 
End Sub

こうしてAddressOf (EndMascot)の代わりにAddressOf (MascotBasicSystem_EndMascot)とするという具合です。勿論*Sub (ByRef mbs As MascotBasicSystem)と型が変わっていますけど。

このクラス(MascotBasicSystem)は1つしか無いので以下のコードと同義と考えてよろしいでしょうか？
以下のように書き換えたらエラーが出なくなったので大丈夫だとは思うのですが・・・ 実はAddressOfで取得した関数ポインタはDLLに送り、
DLLで関数ポインタから関数を実行しているので、なるべく引数はとりたくないんです。

> このクラス(MascotBasicSystem)は1つしか無いので以下のコードと同義と考えてよろしいでしょうか？
とりあえずはそれで構わないです。
こういう場合を考えてか，Windows APIでは予めEnumWindowのように関数へのポインタと共に1つ引数を渡すようになっています。逆に自分がこういう風に関数へのポインタを受け取るときには，そういう風にしてクラスメソッドもコールバックできるようにしましょうということになります。これはデリゲートが導入されても変わりません。

私はAB5CP4をメインとしてAB4.24は動作確認用として使用します。
とりわけAB5CP4はIDEのタブがTHE TEXT PRO版に類似していて大変気に入ってます。
本当はAB5CP5を使うのがベストですがなにしろEXEのサイズが700KB以上になるので。
2014年9月11日修正

My father retired last month after forty-seven years with the same company. Forty-seven years. He started there when he was eighteen, fresh out of high school, and worked his way up from the mailroom to a corner office. I don't think most people can imagine that kind of commitment anymore, staying in one place for that long, but my father is old school. Loyalty matters. Consistency matters. Showing up every day and doing your job matters.

The company threw him a retirement party, a big one, with speeches and cake and a gold watch that he'll probably never wear. My mother and I were there, of course, sitting in the front row, watching him struggle through a speech that made half the room cry. It was beautiful, touching, exactly what he deserved. But underneath all the celebration, I could see something else in his eyes. Fear. The terror of not knowing what comes next.

After forty-seven years of structure, of purpose, of somewhere to be every morning, suddenly there was nothing. No meetings, no deadlines, no reason to set an alarm. I'd seen it happen to other retirees, the slow decline that comes from losing your identity along with your job. I didn't want that for him.

A few weeks after the party, I went to visit my parents. My father was sitting in his usual chair, staring at the TV without really watching it. My mother shot me a look that said everything. He was lost, adrift, fading into the furniture. I sat down next to him, asked how he was doing. He shrugged, said he was fine, but we both knew he wasn't.

I didn't know what to do, so I just sat with him. After a while, I pulled out my phone, more out of habit than anything else. He glanced over, curious. "What's that?" he asked.

I showed him. An online casino site I'd been playing on occasionally, just for fun. He'd never seen anything like it, the live dealers, the real cards, the interaction. His eyes lit up in a way I hadn't seen in weeks.

"How does it work?" he asked.

I spent the next hour showing him. How to go to casino site, how the games worked, how to interact with the dealers. He asked questions, lots of them, the same analytical mind that had served him for forty-seven years suddenly engaged again. By the time I left, he'd created an account and made his first small deposit.

I called him the next day to check in. He was playing, he said. Learning the games, figuring out the strategies. He sounded alive in a way he hadn't in weeks.

Over the following months, it became our thing. I'd call him, and we'd talk about his wins and losses, about the dealers he liked, about the strategies he was developing. He approached it like he'd approached everything in his life, methodically, thoughtfully, with patience and persistence. He wasn't chasing money, he was chasing engagement, purpose, something to do with his time.

One night, he called me, excited in a way I hadn't heard since the retirement party. "You're not going to believe this," he said. He told me the story, how he'd been playing his usual game, a simple slot with a bonus round, when everything aligned. Free spins, multipliers, re-triggers, the whole package. By the time it ended, he'd turned a small bet into just over sixty-seven hundred dollars.

I was stunned. Happy for him, but stunned. He'd never won anything like that in his life. We talked for an hour about what to do with it. By the end, he had a plan.

That money became his freedom fund. He used it to buy a nice camera, something he'd always wanted but never had time for. He started taking photography classes, joined a local club, made friends with people who shared his interest. He used some of it to take my mother on a trip, the first real vacation they'd had in years. And he used the rest to start a small investment account, something to keep his mind engaged with the markets.

I still talk to him regularly, and now our conversations are about more than just the games. We talk about his photography, his trips, his new friends. The games are still there, still a part of his routine, but they're not the main thing anymore. They were the spark, the thing that got him through the transition. The thing that reminded him that life after work could still be interesting.

I think about that sometimes. How a simple suggestion, a casual invitation to go to casino site, changed everything for him. How something so small became the bridge between one life and another. How lucky we are that he was open to it, that he was willing to try something new at seventy years old.

That experience taught me something about purpose and transition and the strange ways the universe works. It taught me that retirement isn't an ending, it's a beginning. That the skills and habits that served you for decades can be applied to new things. That sometimes the smallest spark can light the biggest fire.

My father is doing great now. Better than great. He's active, engaged, excited about life in a way I haven't seen since I was a kid. And every time I see him, I'm grateful. Grateful for that afternoon on his couch, for the curiosity that made him ask questions, for the willingness to try something new. Grateful that a simple invitation to go to casino site became the thing that saved his retirement.

He still plays sometimes, usually in the evenings after dinner. It's part of his routine now, part of his life. And every time he wins, even a little, he calls me to share the news. I listen, celebrate with him, and remember. Remember that sometimes the best things come from the most unlikely places. That a father's retirement can become a new beginning. That all it takes is a spark, a willingness, and a little bit of luck.