I heard this week that a Spanish nun has been sacked from her religious order for spending too long on the social networking site Facebook. It seems that 54 year old Sister Maria, who had been in the organisation for 35 years, was enjoying making friends from all around the world; six hundred in total.
It is hard to resist imagining it was like a scene from The Sound of Music, where the more senior nuns break out in to song with a melancholic rendition of ‘How do you solve a problem like Maria’.
Sister Internet, as she was known by the other residents of the convent, now lives with her mother and plans to visit some of the places she has become acquainted with whilst surfing the net.
It probably shouldn’t surprise us that computers have become so popular with such a wide variety of people. Our dear friend Mel, who is several years into his retirement, has joined the growing band of Silver Surfers.
Mel was an ambulance driver for most of his working life and has seen many changes over his lifetime. He tells me that when he first started in the service they still had ambulances with mechanical bells fitted.
The speed of change in technology is breathtaking and one wonders where the next century will take the human race.
Consider for a moment that there was a mere 84 years gap between Karl Benz offering the first commercially available car in 1885 and Neil Armstrong’s giant leap for mankind as he landed on the moon in 1969.
Back then, when Sister Maria would have been more likely singing ‘I am thirteen going on fourteen’ she must have been aware of the moon landing would probably not have understood its significance. Teenagers would have been more interested in pop music rather than lunar landings.
The compact cassette had only just arrived on the mass market and so most of our music was still on vinyl. My own teenage record collection took up three LP cases and several boxes for singles. I guess that would have been around 1500 tracks and would have filled the boot of a small car.
Today I have a mobile phone that can hold twice as many songs and fits into my jeans pocket. Oh the speed of change!
I was discussing the development of mobile phones with my daughters just a few ago and they were amazed to hear that back in the sixties my parents had our first phone fitted in the house. It was what was known as a party line. This was a way of having a more affordable phone line by sharing it with someone else in the village.
Before being able to make a call we had to check that the other ‘party’ was not speaking to someone. This all seems so very old fashioned now.
Although I look back with fondness on these times I would not swap any of our modern gadgets that have come to enhance our lives: mobile phone, dishwasher, computer, internet, satnav, George Foreman Grill, not to mention the advances in medical science.
To quote another song from the Sound of Music ‘These are a few of my favourite things’.
Sister Act
Football Down The Pub
I have been looking at the computer screen trying to think of something to
write about that doesn’t include South Africa or football. Well I cant!
Mainly because, like a good number of other middle aged men, I have become
nine years old again.
I have kept the World Cup planner from the newspaper. I have bought an
England flag, an England air freshener, and a red and white hat.
I even spent a whole evening putting the fixtures into the calendar on my
iPhone even though I had previously bought an app (phone programme)
containing the full details.
To many of you, including Mrs M, this will all sound a little sad. In fact
my wife is under the impression that I might have World Cup Tourettes
because every now and then I get the urge to shout ‘Come on England’.
I know that I am not alone in this; every where I go I see grown men
gazing at newspapers and magazines containing details of the happenings
taking place on the African continent.
I spoke to an old school friend today and within seconds our conversation
became focussed on this, our favourite subject. My old pal is a Manchester
City fan whilst I support the team in red. This did not matter, however, as
we became joined as fellow supporters of our national team.
I mentioned Mrs M’s view that I might have World Cup Tourettes and he
chuckled as he told me about his need to sing the England football song
Three Lions at the top of his voice whilst alone in his car.
My wife said this confirmed her theory that the only difference between
men and cheese is that eventually the latter matures. I detected a little
too much sarcasm than I thought was necessary.
I enquired as to whether she was in any way excited about the competition.
‘A little she replied’ doing a mock Mexican wave as she sat on the sofa.
No matter, I continued with my pre-tournament preparations which included
ensuring that every TV in the house had good reception just in case we get
a failure, and fitting the flag to my otherwise unpatriotic car.
Mrs M, in a bid to manage my expectations, suggested that I book in for
some therapy should they not make it past the first round.
‘Therapy?’ I replied ‘I will form a whole support group should that
happen’.
‘And where would you hold these sessions’ enquired my bride.
‘Down the pub’ I replied.
My wife did a second mock Mexican wave and I am sure I heard her say ‘Come
on England’ as she left the room.
World Cup Tourettes must be catching.
- Posted from my iPhone
Britain's Traditional Instrument
My World Cup tourettes has fast disappeared and been replaced by a self-help mantra.
I had spent the last few weeks randomly shouting 'come on England' at the sight of a St George's flag but now the nine year-old boy inside this middle-aged man has grown quiet and ever so slightly melancolic.
I have replaced my football chant with the one my wife regularly used in the lead up to the competition. Trying to convey that she didn't know what all the fuss was about she would offer 'it's only game'.
Before England's demise I would take the time to explain why she was mistaken in her view. Now it seems to offer only the slightest amount of comfort.
Mrs M, in an attempt at soothing my disappointment, removed all the England flags from the car whilst I was otherwise distracted.
It was a caring thing to do but the car, once proud, patriotic, and positive, now looked sad and ordinary.
It seems we were not alone in wanting to remove any reminders of our defeat. The streets around our home, which were once a proud mass of red and white, are all now as plain as my old car.
We have just started a few days away at a holiday camp in Norfolk and I am hopeful that this will restore my otherwise positive attitude.
On arrival I became quickly aware that there were no St George's flags to be seen. I presume that the the holiday camp managers followed my wife's lead in hiding anything that might disappoint.
My hope now is that I might meet some French or Italian supporters: I will feel it is my duty to encourage them by offering the reminder that 'it's only a game'. We are fellow Europeans.
If I come across some Germans (not sure of it counts as Europe) I will feel the need to be magnanamous in defeat. Even if Lampard's goal had been allowed we still looked second rate compared with their skill.
For now I will pick up my vuvuzela and shout 'Come on Ghana!'
The instrument, that made every game sound like it was being played inside a hornets nest, was allowed because it is said to be a traditional instrument.
If we ever host the World Cup in this great nation we should employ our traditional
instruments and turn up at the stadium with a pair of spoons or a paper and comb. That would show 'em!
And if they complained about the noise we could remind them that 'it's only a game'.
