“There’s just a ghostly vacancy in my head”
Sorry, but this column might not be for you.
This column is for those of you who will never open a Troubleshoot Window again as long as you live, because you know there’s no point. It’s for people who own Nokia bricks and refuse to upgrade them because the last time they did this, activating their new phone felt like breathing life into the gills of a dead trout.
Now that’s out of the way, let me begin.
It’s Sunday. We’re sitting at the kitchen table, eating roast chicken. My children are discussing technology. Not the macro stuff, such as — just to give an example — how technological advancement has created a paradigm shift in the way we all communicate with each other. No. Instead, they are heading deep into the micro stuff; specifically — from what I can gather —the steps that my son, who’s just back from Korea, is going to have to take if he wants his iPhone to work in Ireland.
They commence: “Korean network work… bit of a balls… sim, have to phone company… unlock. Korea nine hours ahead. Package. Good deal, I know, €900 for the year… included everything. Miss my apps… different contract. Sim. Soccer-podcast… Richardson brilliant. D’ya like Gabrielle Marcotti Dad? Yeah brilliant… podcast… Guardian- download, Dad. Sim. Time-difference… Korea… new contract… unlock authorisation… balls. I know, gonna do it after dinner. Nice gravy.”
Or so it sounds to me.
My brain has suffered what feels like a sudden inrush of glue. This is accompanied by the kind of mental weakening you might experience if someone started to explain the Higgs Boson Particle to you in a pub at closing time, when you’re three glasses of red wine down.
They continue:
“Go with Lycamobile… good deal. Stupid, locked yourself into contract with Meteor for year… all-you-can-eat-internet… unlock it. Easy. Free Lyca to Lyca… new sim …Meteor… unlock code. Easy. Promise Mum. Meteor Customer Care, Mum… still got your Nokia brick Mum? No. Go with Go Conquer 48 — not Lycamobile… better… easy… unlimited internet access … wi-fi… smart phone. All-you-can-eat-internet… free calls and texts to all networks. Sim. So easy… any pudding?”
I eat my chicken and think, it’s not that I’m opposed to technology or to discussing it, it’s more that they’re opposed to me.
They resume: “Twitter… old people so weird… not rocket science. Feeds …follow everyone. Blog. Set it up. Google it. Easy. Lazy. Totally weird, Mum you always shout into your mobile phone. Mum, they’re not deaf… follow you… Twitter need to be on it. You do… characters… simple… follow… 140, seriously, not beyond you… worse than granny. Simple. Lazy. I’ll show you. By the way… lost USB wireless mouse, mum, lost tiny mouse… tiny…pin-drive… have you seen it? Any pudding?”
At this point, an image of my late father drifts into my head. I see him in my mind’s eye, approaching the video cassette recorder. There’s no pep in his step or hope in his face. He stabs in no particular order at Eject, Stop, Play, Off, FWD and RWD buttons, drawing his fingers quickly back between stabs, as if the buttons might bite his fingers off. He puts his specs on, examines coaxial cables round the back of the VCR and telly and swaps them about. Then he pauses, to see if, for once in his life, this might have worked. He takes the VCR’s refusal to cooperate with him quite personally, more so when his children reach over his shoulder, swap the coaxial cables back, press the start button, and the VCR springs instantly into their service. His shoulders slump in defeat.
Finishing my chicken, I begin to wonder whether the lack of technological know-how is something that’s genetically encoded. Could it be that I’m simply disadvantaged by my dad’s DNA?
My children have stopped talking. Now there’s just a ghostly vacancy in my head. Only two things knock about in it:
1. A thought about paradigm shifts: technological advancement has indeed changed the way we all communicate: the world is now full of conversations from which I’m wholly exempt.
2. The word “pudding”.





