Happy, calm and focused? You must be internet-free
One in 10 British adults still has no access to the internet, says a new report. Its authors make it sound like a terrible hardship. And I can see what they mean. Imagine what it must be like. Having to take your news only from reputable sources of information. Oblivious to all the latest anti-semitic conspiracy theories. Deprived of endless abuse and threats from total strangers. It must be a nightmare.
Lord knows how these people manage to fill their evenings. I suppose they have to read books, or go out, or have hobbies and stuff. Or even just talk. As in, talk to people they actually like, rather than people they hate, like we do on the internet. Then, of course, there’s work. I wonder what I would do at work, if I didn’t have the internet. Work, probably.
It must be weird, being able to read more than two paragraphs at a time without your mind, you know, doing that thing it does after you’ve read two paragraphs. And being able to walk down the street without bumping into someone coming the other way because you’re glued to your screen, and they’re glued to theirs. And being able to cross a busy road without quickly checking for new tweets half way. And then quickly checking again on the other side.
That poor 10 per cent. I wonder how they stop themselves getting bored when they’re on the train, or on the bus, or at the dinner table, or in bed, or anywhere else. I suppose they just have to have thoughts. In a way, it’s probably quite interesting, having thoughts. I think I used to have thoughts myself, occasionally, although I’m not completely sure what they were. If only I could have tweeted them, as a reminder. But I couldn’t, because we didn’t have Twitter back then. All those years ago, before my brain turned into a patch of permanently scorched grass.
Anyway, the fact is: we need to help these people. Because until every single person in the country is online, we won’t be able to completely destroy our high street shops, our mental health, our children’s innocence, and our democracy.
Let’s get this final 10 per cent online – and finish the job. Even if Karen Bradley achieves nothing else as Northern Ireland Secretary – and frankly, the signs aren’t good – her place in the history books is assured. Because this week, she gave what commentators are already hailing as the most stupendous apology of all time.
On Wednesday, Mrs Bradley declared to Parliament that killings by security forces during the Troubles were “not crimes”. Thirty-six hours later, after countless demands for her resignation, she apologised – and then added the following.
“I want to be clear,” she said. “I do not believe what I said. That is not my view.” Remarkable. I’ve heard politicians distance themselves from other people’s views. But I’ve never heard one distance herself from her own views.
She must be hoping the story goes away now. Otherwise, she might have to make a statement to the Commons.
“Mr Speaker, I was extremely disappointed to read the comments I made to the House last week. Let me be clear: I do not agree with what I said, and I never have. The fact is, I took my own words completely out of context, and utterly misrepresented myself. I want the House, and the people of Northern Ireland, to know that my views do not reflect my views, and the opinions attributed to me by me are not mine. I have always said the opposite of what I said, and therefore I was both shocked and saddened to hear myself expressing beliefs that run contrary to my beliefs. I have spoken to myself, and have made clear to myself that if I continue to undermine myself I will have myself to answer to.
“I welcome my apology, and hope that, whatever differences of opinion I may have with myself, I will be able to put them behind me, and forge a positive new relationship with myself.”
Applications are now open for passes to the Labour Party conference. On the official online form, applicants are asked to select their title from a drop-down menu. Interestingly, however, it doesn’t stop at “Mr”, “Mrs”, “Miss” and “Ms”. It also includes a lengthy list of aristocratic titles, including “Count”, “The Viscount”, “Baron”, and even, believe it or not, “HRH”. Fair enough, I suppose. Today’s Labour Party prides itself on being inclusive, and it wouldn’t do to discriminate against the elite in the fight against the elite. Especially since so many people around Jeremy Corbyn come from well-to-do families. Take his adviser Andrew Murray, who is descended from the Earl of Perth on one side, and a baronet on the other.
Before joining Mr Corbyn’s office in 2016, he was a member of the Communist Party of Britain. No doubt when the revolution comes, he’ll make sure he’s first against the wall. The young people of today are far more worldly than we ever were. My son, for example. This week, it was his fifth birthday. He seemed happy enough with the presents we got him. But he was downright ecstatic when he opened a card from family friends, and a £10 note fell out.
“TEN POUNDS!” he squealed, after I’d explained to him what it was. “I’m RICH! I can buy ANYTHING! ANYTHING I WANT!”
He then spent a solid minute dancing around the living room, kissing – literally kissing – the £10 note. At one point – and I’m not making this up – he said, “I love you, money. I’m going to keep you for ever.”
He’s since changed his mind about that last bit, and has spent the rest of the week breathlessly listing all the wonderful things he’s going to buy with his newfound wealth.
Anyway, it’s taught us a lesson. The presents we bought him cost a fair bit more than £10. And yet he clearly preferred the banknote.
Tip for parents and grandparents. Just give them cash. It saves money.