Warning: the demon drink and online shopping don’t mix

WHEN did we all become slaves to Amazon? I say “slaves” in an uncharacteristically glib way, since we proffer our hands willingly to be shackled. Amazon: there’s no escaping it.

With Covid whipping us on the back to make us order more, it transpires the company’s quarterly profits were up nearly 40 per cent.

Still, though it allegedly pays as little tax as possible, treats its workers like automatons, and still packs tiny items in huge boxes, I’m not going to complain too much as it’s a great place to go for obscure books and films (picked up a favourite from my youth, Fellini’s Roma, for £2 this week).

I joined Amazon quite early, and even got a free mug after a year or so (everybody got one). I still recall the excitement, in those early days, when the postie brought me a big thick Harry Potter book that had just been newly published. But one big complaint I have is this: just before you buy something, they don’t ask: “Are you blootered at the time of making this purchase?”

I felt this omission keenly last week when, to my surprise, the postman delivered a 3kg bag of jelly beans – the same weight as two bags of potatoes – and four boxes of Finnish liquorice that I had apparently ordered.

When I went to check if this wasn’t some kind of ghastly mistake, I discovered that I – a man who might fairly be described as indigent –had in fact spent 13 quid on the jelly beans alone. I’m too frightened to check the price of the Finnish liquorice.

Surely, the company should exercise more responsibility in this regard? Is there no law that would make them have a care for their customers? What is Nicola Sturgeon doing about this? Where’s Boris Johnson when we need him?

I think this touches on a more general point, which is that, at least when there are no viruses around, governments give us too much freedom. Clearly, I am not a responsible adult, yet I am free to make gargantuan errors of judgment when visiting Amazon’s website.

Law was created to save us from ourselves. It is about time it was put into effect here with regard to Amazon purchases by people who may have been forced by accidental inebriation into feeling a greater degree of optimism about their financial situation than reality allowed.

In the meantime, unwillingly, I offer myself as guinea pig for the following experiment: could a man live off jelly beans, with a dessert of Finnish liquorice, for a year? Watch this space.

The Jung ones

AS it happens, I’m fascinated by coincidence. Is there anything in it? The psychologist Carl Jung thought there could be. I could explain his reasoning here but, er, am a bit busy at the moment.

Still, I keep a file of my coincidences. Here’s one from just a minute ago. I was thinking of writing something about cancel culture when the downloading doodah for the report I wanted to read offered me the opportunity to … cancel. Lummy!

More recently, Rupert the Bear and Robert Louis Stevenson have featured in my coincidences. Cleopatra has come up a few times, too, though the person featuring most over the years is Jonna Jinton, the rural Swedish vlogger, musician and artist.

What can it all mean? Is it that we’re on the same wavelength? If so, what are the Carry On films doing in there?

One coincidence that went round and round in circles this week concerned the late Swedish musician Bo Hansson, of whom I’ve very fond. Hansson, who became famous with his album inspired by The Lord of the Rings, was born in Gothenburg and grew up in the pine forests of northern Sweden.

Jonna Jinton, who is often compared to an elf from The Lord of the Rings, grew up in Gothenburg and moved to the pine forests of northern Sweden. But that’s the least of it. Earlier this week, on the phone to my mate, I said: “Ever heard of a musician called Bo Hansson?”

Indeed, he said, he had and had bought The Lord of the Rings album some years ago. We recalled, too, that it transpired that Hansson had been a big influence on Swedish post-psychedelic band Dungen, whom we’d seen together in Glasgow a few years ago.

Later that evening, I Googled Bo Hansson and, several pages doon, something I wrote for that Herald newspaper in 2013 came up. To wit: “Certainly, coincidences are spooky. I keep note of mine.

Well, it’s nice to have a hobby. Postie delivers CD by obscure (and sadly dead) Swedish musician Bo Hansson. Then my mate phones and says, completely from nowhere: ‘Ever heard of a musician called Bo Hansson?’”

So, seven years ago, there was a coincidence about Bo Hansson, and my mate asked me the same question I asked him just a few days ago.

True, we’re both ageing prog rock aficionados whose memories are getting skew-whiff but, all the same, weird or what?

What? I’m talking mince? No way! That’s what I’m having for my tea!

Buying from Amazon can be problematic, finds Rab