Mini breaks with the little ones
OVER the festive party season I’ve noticed a bit of a clash of cultures between the techno generation of today and old gits like me who use words like tape, wireless and disco.
For a start, everybody under 20 seemed to have gotten more gadgets off Santa than M gives James Bond before a mission.
They then proceed to show you this range of technological marvels that both impress you and leave you feeling like a twelfth century peasant at a Bill Gates product launch.
An excited younger member will grab you and shove a shiny black thing in your face: “Look dad, this applets you distort your face so you look a bit radgie” - unimpressed you pretend to be interested but nagging doubts voice themselves... Was it really worth some Silicon Valley nerd devoting his or her time and education to produce such a pointless piece of electro-pap?
Givowwer - if we wanted to see a proper radgie face we either looked at our reflection in the back of a spoon or did knocky nine door on that bloke who kept the helmet and sword off the Japanese officer he’d killed over his fireplace.
The guaranteed chase from him would burn more calories than any Wii fit game and would be far more dangerous and thrilling than Grand Theft Auto!
Moreover, it cost nowt and the highest piece of technology you used was the radgie gadgie’s doorbell.
Another big difference between us Stone Age folk and the gadget kids was the simple concept of time.
All We had was a wristwatch, concrete plans and some personal integrity!
When given a time to turn up at a party, we oldies actually did turn up at the precise prearranged moment - in fact we usually even turned up earlier.
Why ? Well, for the benefit of the young uns - it was simply due to the fact that once you left the house , you were off the radar.
Unobtainable. You probably would be easier to reach if you were in a nuclear sub submerged under an ice cap or on witness protection.
You set off for that party and nowt would be heard until you were pouring your first can of Broon in your host’s kitchen whilst your coat was being put on the bed in the spare room.
People would form a circle to hear your epic journey survival story; you got there without a single text, tweet or mobile call to aid you.
In those sturdier times - even the use of an A-Z was seen as a sign of moral weakness and lack of character.
Mind you, my generation’s habit of turning up early can backfire in these digital times.
Neybody wants to be first at a do; you end up perched on a settee in a hoose where you either don’t know the couple hosting, or you only know enough to get yourself into trouble.
You sit in excruciating embarrassment feeling your nails grow. There’s neybody here man! Was it eight or eight-ish ?
You nibble on a peanut or a Pringle and desperately think of something to say: “Ah see you are a big fan of Breaking Bad” you venture as you see a boxed set by the telly.
The hostess turns red: “Well they’re my husband’s but he walked out last month and hasn’t collected all his stuff”.
Beyond embarrassment, you pretend you have an urgent message on the smart phone you never use and don’t understand.
Actually, you do have something. It’s a text! The young uns are telling you they are in the boozer round the corner and warn you not to mention the lassie’s husband!
Finally - when the party livens up they want you to text them so they can swing on by. Your humiliation is complete when you realise you have at least another 40 minutes of this purgatory to endure - and even worse, it’s impossible to hang up angrily on a smart phone.
Is there an app for getting a foot out of your gob?
■ Mike is appearing at Newcastle Stand’s Christmas Hootfest everty .ight until Saturday