Was listening with some interest to the boys at the pub last evening, as they dissected the war, the £5 charge that it'll cost to drive into London as of this very morning, the value of the Euro, and possible dates for slurrying their fields..that date by the way is of tremendous import to we in this village..the waft from that fertilizing process curdles milk.. when one of the venerable members of the order of the bar began emitting a warbling from his vest pocket..
Of course it was his mobile. His wife asking he come the half mile back to his house via a three mile detour into town to pick up something domestically indispensible.. Thus, mumbling his apologies, he took his leave, and shortly thereafter our nightly forum dispered, and we all went our separate ways. But before that, two more of the group had similar calls from their respective spouses with almost identical requests, and there was a bit of a rush to catch the first so he could collect for all of them..
That, is a sad sign of our times.
One, that there isn't a place on this earth one can escape to, away from the possibility of a phonecall. Even the sanctity of the pub is breached, and equally a mother can no longer escape the family for a peaceful hour, without enduring the presistent nagging guilt that comes with turning the bloody phone off..
And two, the frightening fact there are 49 million registered mobile phones in use.
This island has some 57 million people on it, which includes the doddering through the swaddled.
And what these phones can do, is surprising to say the least..
One has to wonder where a simple neural implant will be developed, that would allow you instant access to all telecommunicated services..