A 1980s cartoon from Private Eye shows a teenage boy, dressed in animal skins, staring intently into the dancing flames of a small fire. Behind him, bearded and leaning on a club, stands his scowling Neanderthal father, horrified: ‘When I was a boy we had to make our own entertainment.’
The great Douglas Adams believed technology always arouses one of three different reactions in us, depending on our age at the time it first appeared. So anything invented before our tenth birthday leaves us unfazed — it’s mere infrastructure (just as my daughters are no more excited by Sky+ than I am by plumbing). By contrast the stuff invented in the 30 years after our tenth birthday, well that’s real Technology, and an endless source of awe and fascination (the way we still enjoy a minor thrill each time we go abroad and find our mobile still works). Last are the things invented after we hit 40. These we greet with blimpish disapproval: ‘absurd, over-complicated nonsense… what’s wrong with carbon paper anyway?’ (Pretty much my father’s view of computers, until he found you could use them to sell second-hand books.)
As with music, so with gadgets: once you pass 40, as your natural inquisitiveness flags, you need to try harder to like things you instinctively hate.
There are good reasons for this. For a start, the cost of adopting new technology is usually heavily front-end loaded, many innovations delivering long-term gains at the price of short-term annoyance. Take online grocery shopping. The first time you place an order, the process of filling your basket is tedious; worse even than a real trip to Tesco. By your fourth visit, the website has recognised your favourite items, and you find that typing ‘marjoram’ is easier than finding it in a crowded shop, even supposing you knew what it looked like anyway.

Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in