Everything since the ZX Spectrum has pretty much left me cold. Ghetto blasters, Sony Walkmans, CDs, Apple Macs, iPods, PlayStations… I didn’t want any of them.
Back in 1981, I did want a CB radio and I nearly got one too, but then my mother found out that lorry drivers were on them and the thorny issue of whether it would be appropriate for a nine-year-old girl to converse with a trucker put the kibosh on the whole thing.
I was bitterly disappointed. I seem to remember I cried. I did not cry about not being bought a Commodore 64 or a BBC Computer, as the technological bee’s knees was then called, or any other home computer with plastic rather than rubber buttons like mine had. I did not covet them. Nor did I covet a video game machine.
I had a brief fling with Donkey Kong while holidaying in Corfu aged about 12, in an arcade on the lower ground floor of a large hotel. The other kids and I sat on the high stools playing Nintendo for hours on end.
But I haven’t enjoyed any technology since then, unless you count the BlackBerry. Nothing, that is, until Netflix. Why hasn’t everyone got Netflix? I simply cannot understand why you would not have it. For a few pounds a month, you can watch almost any film or TV series you like, when you like.
Every night, I climb into bed and marvel at the sheer volume of entertainment I have almost free access to.
And if anyone thinks I’m toadying up to Netflix for a freebie, know this: there is no point trying to get a freebie from Netflix, for it is as good as free anyway.
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