the time machine
I’ve oft mentioned & discussed the way in which ‘content’ is now consumed – personalised lists, never-endingly streamed to our device-of-choice and viewed on the hoof whilst in the bath or on the bus. The joy of reading a whole newspaper from front to back, or flicking through a magazine from cover to cover, is seldom experienced any longer. The serendipitous, and highly beneficial, nature of an unrelated article catching your eye and encouraging you to read it, is on the wane. Unless it’s gossipy tittle-tattle in the Metro.
Exactly the same has happened to our television diet. iPlayer, NOW TV, Amazon and Netflix have completely redesigned the televisual landscape and we now watch what we want, when we want. No longer do we watch something unfamiliar or outside of our own rigid pre-determined tastes just because ‘it’s on the tele’. Once upon a time, pre-remote-control, we often wouldn’t even change channels for fear of losing the signal! Hence my left-field knowledge of obscure sheep dog trialling and local police interrogation techniques.
My introduction to the cinema greats came about solely from wet-Sunday afternoon viewing when nothing less than Mick McManus and Jackie Pallo were busy grappling on the other channel: Rear Window, Brief Encounter, Ice Cold in Alex, Man in the White Suit, The Count of Monte Christo, Kind Hearts & Coronets, Scrooge, classics all. And when I couldn’t stomach The Titfield Thunderbolt yet again, and the clouds had cleared, there was always a street kick-about to enjoy, Haslam Park trees that demanded climbing or even a street corner that needed colonising. Today’s youth will never experience the quiet despair of switching on the goggle-box to the sight of General Hospital or, God forbid, the test-card, and opt for a good book or to play-out instead.
