Confronting the Handheld Menace

I recently accompanied my elderly father to the optometrist in the local high street for his overdue eye test.  On the wall of the waiting area was a sign proclaiming “Do not use mobile phones”  – not “We ask our customers to kindly refrain from using mobile phones” but “Do not use mobile phones”.  The message was unequivocal – they were, understandably, not permitted in an area that contained highly sensitive equipment.

I suspect you know what’s coming next – yes, half of the people congregating outside the consulting rooms were in conversation on their handheld devices, most saying nothing more illuminating than that they were “at the optician’s”. A young man sitting next to me loudly responded to a call whilst a nurse tried to explain her treatment to the woman sat on the other side of him. It never occurred to him to move away or – heaven forbid – turn off his phone.

Another sign declared “No food or drink”, which was being observed perfectly, other than by small children in buggies (strollers) who ought to have constituted an exception anyway. How ironic that we are prepared to forego the staff of life for an hour or two, but cannot survive without the comfort of that little piece of plastic and lead for just a few minutes.

But before my momentary outrage triggers a rant about the decline of respect and civility, I need to relay another shocking discovery – all the while I had muttered about, and frowned at, the widespread flouting of a quite explicit and rational instruction, I had been checking my e mails and Twitter timeline on my own phone. Now I don’t know whether, aside from the obvious distraction and discourtesy, surfing is less forgivable than speaking (I suspect the radiological damage is the same), but I do acknowledge the hypocrisy of my stance.

What it does illustrate, however, is the utter dependence we place upon the simultaneously liberating and tyrannous grip – literally – of our smartphones. androids and tablets. I tend to use my ageing Nokia N93 primarily for texting and surfing and have never understood the fascination with playing games on computers of any size or specification.  

But I doubt that I could live without it. When I commuted to work it enabled me to let my wife know if my train was running late, ensuring that dinner would still be edible when I finally made it home.  It allows me to track the progress of my favourite sports teams when I am out and about.  And it prevents me from missing an important meeting when my usually reliable memory lets me down.

I like to think that I don’t abuse the privilege of having one.  I will remove myself from a crowded public space to return a call, and, even then, talk almost too quietly (natural English reserve meets respect here).  Nor do I walk the streets with it cupped in the palm of my hand, as if expecting at any moment a call from Barack Obama asking for my views on the Syrian crisis, or a text from Bob Dylan inviting me to open for him on his next tour.   

Sadly, however, too many of my fellow citizens appear to believe that ownership of any sort of handheld electronic device entitles them to declaim loudly and tediously on public transport and in restaurants, and go about their business with their faces buried in the contraptions, oblivious to the world around them, sometimes causing danger to themselves and others.

I am getting perilously close to ranting again, so here’s a new game for you.  Next time you see someone heading towards you on the street, head bowed, nose caressing the screen display on their iPhone, iPad2 or e-reader, rather than leap out of their way into oncoming traffic or scrape your back against a wall, just hold your ground and shout “boo!” as they career into you. It’ll frighten the hell out of them! And sometimes it even elicits an apology!

But one note of caution – choose your target carefully.  It’s not advisable to select someone who is bigger or meaner looking than yourself.

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Books: Case for the Defence

Kindle, Sony, BeBook, Elonex, iRiver and now Kobo –  the march of the e-reader is becoming louder and more intimidating, like Hitler’s stormtroopers goose stepping across the heart of Europe.  Is the end of the printed word nigh? Or can I stem the tide by building a barricade with my extensive book collection?

Don’t get me wrong – I embrace technology as willingly as the next man or woman – I wouldn’t be blindly cobbling something together every few days for this blog if I didn’t.  I love my iPod, laptop and mobile, and participate in several social networking sites.

And I can see the immense advantage of having an e-reader.  I could carry my entire library around in my back pocket, available to dip into at any time and anywhere.  Depending upon my mood, I could skip from a novel to travel diaries to poetry to sporting memoirs at a few touches of a screen.

Neither would I have to agonise for weeks before going on holiday, deciding which two books I should take, and then leaving at least one of them behind because I knew I was planning to buy several whilst I was away, placing potentially intolerable pressure on my wife’s miraculous capacity to bring our cases in within a milligram of our luggage allowance.

And think of the space the absence of so many books would open up in the house – decluttering at a stroke, though we might need to buy some new furniture!  There’s the small matter too of the environmental damage that the continued production of paper based books could cause.

Then there’s the actual e-reader itself.  Slim, lightweight, compact, long battery life, easy touch, low cost downloads, no glare screen, high contrast E ink display – the list of its attractive features goes on. What is there not to like about it?

And the biggest irony of possessing one?  I would almost certainly read more, more often and more widely, an essential requirement for a writer.  So what’s the problem?

Well, in defence of books it is the sensual and emotional elements that carry the day for me. Their look, feel, texture and, in the case of old books, smell are central to the reading experience.  The turning of the page, the safe depositing of the bookmark, the sight of a well stocked bookcase (doubling as a nice piece of furniture)  – all of these have a richness that cannot remotely be replicated by their upstart rival.

Many books that we possess may have started their life as gifts or be associated with an event or period in our lives that carries resonance. Downloads, even as presents, cannot invite the same emotional investment.

Books don’t break – they may get a little dog-eared but, again, that’s part of their charm.  They don’t run out of batteries or risk short circuiting and losing their entire content.  E-books, at least at the moment, can neither display illustrations nor adequately present large works of reference. And, as someone commented on another website, “how do you get an author to sign an e-book?”.

Bookshops, and even libraries, may be in decline but browsing their shelves remains, one of the most relaxing, and at the same time, stimulating of retail experiences, though I acknowledge that their purpose for many today might be to direct them to their next downloads rather than paper purchases.

P.G. Wodehouse claimed that “as life goes on, don’t you find that all you need is about two real friends, a regular supply of books, and a Peke (Pekinese)?”  I’m not so sure about the third, but I don’t think he’s far wrong otherwise.

A final thought – perhaps the answer is compromise.  Buy an e-reader purely to use on holidays where the baggage weight is an issue, but continue to read the printed word at all other times.

I fear the menacing thud of those jackboots is getting closer.

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