Remember the internet in December 1983? Morphing about the place with floppy-disk hair talking about equality, freedom and changing the world. How we laughed loading up computers like washing machines. We’d go to bed, get up in the morning and it would be making that strange noise as it dry humped data, trying to get its insides out.
We’d explain comparing a computer to an electrical typewriter was the wrong analogy. One worked by electricity. The other didn’t work but when it did it was by the strange alchemy of binary code. Nothing was no longer nothing. One had to mean something.
Then the internet hit puberty. Boy did our trouble begin. Not just viruses. Porn discovered the internet or the internet discovered porn. It was messy and mousy. Something hard was always getting stuck in the hard drive. We thought it would be just a passing phase.
People no longer saw eye to eye. They seemed quite content to wave their wands and touch their screens. Everybody became somebody. Selfies and selfie-sticks were the latest cool tool to let your neighbour know you were the latest show. Dinner was in the cloud, delivered from Asda by the son of a boy whose name you vaguely remember from school. You google him. And of course it’s him. You need to google yourself, check out what’s being said about you. It might even be true.