It's a terrible, ponderous chain you are making

Every time I go on the internet (there's a phrase nearing its sell-by date (and another)), I feel more and more like Marley's ghost, dragging my clanking chains of shopping around with me, everywhere I go.

I'm halfway through a distressing article on The Guardian web-site about FGM and suddenly I'm presented with a list of every item I clicked on at M&S, carefully animated to distract me -

'That's a really fluffy dressing gown, you should buy that. Be all snugly next winter.'
'And those socks!'

and scattered across the page, all shouting for my attention all at the same time.


I try to catch up on Gizmodo.co.uk, and suddenly I'm tapped on the shoulder and -

'You're off to London next week, are you?'
'Well, my daughter and her friends are going to see-'
'Thinking about staying at the Marriott?'
'No. It's all booked, actually and-'
'There are other hotels available, you know.'
'I don't care, I-'
'At very competitive prices!'

It seems to be everywhere. I click on a link, and I can almost hear the spectral rattling of metal chests and padlocks scraping their way off my hard drive. Where once there was a delay because of dial-up speed limits, and analogue phone lines, now the first thing a website does as you step through its doors (and well before presenting the page you've requested) is rifle through your cookies to see who you've been associating with -

'Amazon, eh? Ah -a wish list *chuckle*.'
'Hhmm. LED lighting strips.'

 At the moment I'm being followed by Amazon telling me about their 20% off nappies offer, with next day delivery. Have they mis-read my records, does a cookie disagree with them? Or is something going on that  I know nothing about? Can they aggregate data from known family members' hard drives, put two and two together and tell me the happy news, but in the form of an ad?

'*cough* Our card. Should you be in need of our services - McMillan's Funeral directors.'

Is that how we'll be informed in future?

Of course, I'm middle-aged now and my chain is relatively short. Loudly clanking and irritating to me it may be, but my life is not spent online in the way my daughters' lives are.

Their chains will be long and ponderous indeed.

Two minutes

I am feeling the urge to blog again.

The itch to bitch, possibly. This urge might fade as quickly as it came upon me. This may be the only post. It could be I have nothing to say on matters global and local, personal and public.

I just answered the phone to a witheld number. It was Tomas (I'll use that spelling as he was obviously not English), wanting me to take part in a 2 minute survey for money matters. Being British, I apologised and said no, tonight is not good for me.

'But it will only take 2 minutes,' he said.
'But it won't,' I replied. 'These things never do. So no, not tonight.'
'But why?' I heard the pleading in his voice.

Why? Because explaining why would take up far more than the 2 minutes you are asking of me, and if I were to list my reasons here would take even longer.

Will take even longer. This blog is me, all me. No apologising, no 'can I suggest' or 'don't you think'. I have some things I want to say, and if you don't want to hear them well, go away.

Be warned, I won't be so polite in future.

I also have things I want to work out, and writing about them is the best way for me to organise my thoughts. 

I'm feeling good about this.