In PC World no one can hear you scream
I bought a new monitor today. It’s lying on my bed still in the box. I only fit new hardware early in the day: I’m terrified of clicking a wrong button or something and putting all of London’s lights out.
As soon as I get into PC World, though, my technophobia turns into slavering. It’s a bit like a puritan stumbling across a very raunchy porn site. Like most men, gleaming black surfaces and glowing moving images bring out something deep within me. Maybe it’s some kind of prehistoric DNA memory of spotting the shiny tusks of mammoths striding through the tundra. I spend minutes drooling over and caressing smooth rectangular objects whose function is beyond me.
I’m pathetically eager not to seem a technoprat to the young assistants. This makes me ask questions which must make them think I’ve escaped from an institute for the semi-criminally insane. Pointing to a prospective monitor I found myself blabbering stuff like “How many RAM does it have?” or “Does it have a Blu Ray port?” when what I really want to ask is “Is that thing the On Switch?”
I’ve been trying to restrain myself from loading up with irresistible gadgets ever since I came home with what I thought was a tablet but was in fact a photo frame. I try to restrict impulse buys to the cheap stuff. I’ve a drawer full of mouse mats, two or three unused laptop bags and loads of books on Linux. I haven’t a clue what a Linux is, what it looks like or even whether I’ve got one. If you can advise, could you let me know?
I’m not giving out my email, though. If there’s a power cut across London tomorrow, I don’t want you getting on to me.