Becoming wary about data

Data is ‘a thing’ now.

The tipping point into relevance is when the number of people, like me, who casually use a topic in conversation while knowing nothing about it surpasses the number of its experts. Data promises to be the ‘cloud computing’ of the coming months. I try to get a handle on complexities by using something simpler. And tastier. Like a Cadbury’s Double Decker.

I have a long relationship with the chocolatey nougat-up-top and crunchy-cereal-bottomed bar. When I was small, it was rationed out, so I savoured every nibble. Now, thanks to fortunate investments in Burmese tea plantations, I can afford a whole Double Decker more than once a week. Apart from the double goody-goodness, there’s also the friendly, orange-and-purple wrapping. Purple and orange are my favourite colours from when I first got markers. Last week, having gorged on both decks, I spotted, on the inside of the wrapping, that I had won a prize.

While going online to claim it, I paused to skim a story about how the personal details of hundreds of thousands of people may have been stolen by computer hackers. “Whatevs,” I said, “it’s prize-giving time” and proceeded to enter my name, address, and phone number on the Cadbury’s website. My prize was … a free bar of Cadbury Dairy Milk marvellous creations.

One bar of chocolate and I’ve given away my data to yet another admirer.

I first became aware of the power of mailing lists years ago. I registered to vote and, in a streak of independence, spelled my address differently to my parents’ (although I voted for whoever my parents did). Imagine my surprise when this same misspelling turned up on all sorts of letters. There were letters from Reader’s Digest with a fake, golden key telling me how close I was to winning their star prize, just like Betty Grimshawe, from Derby. Other letters began with “Our research has shown you to be one of the prime financial brains in your area.” I was outraged. How could my democratic right be so sullied by mammon?

I became more blasé about giving away my data. Databases around the world have my details as I gad about the internet, signing up for this, and forgetting to tick ‘feck-off’ on that. I’m still waiting for my free consultation on robotic milking machines since the Ploughing Championships. My personal email is now like a drawer in the hall — full of virtual leaflets.

I doubt my internet adventures are going to feature in any ‘big data’ algorithm soon and no-one is going to hack into Cadbury’s chocolate-glutton database to see my address; but, sometimes, it seems like I sleepwalk into leaving nuggets of information about myself lying around. It doesn’t matter much now, but it might, one day. I don’t want to scare anyone and say that the terminators are on the way (unless they’ve already got to me), but I’ve resolved to be a bit more circumspect in future. And I’ll be telling you in a future column all about how I got on.