When and why and what I need to know,
And how to get to where I want to go
And who is dating whom, the so-and-so,
Just ask the bloody phone, go with the flow.
I have come to realize that the smartphone is a curse.
It is so convenient and informative. It tells me the time and the weather and my whereabouts and what everybody else is doing.
But it’s a sordid boon. I am addicted to it. As a child I read for hours on end, uninterrupted. Now, when I read a book, I pause every few pages to turn on my phone and read the news, or even, I’m embarrassed to admit, my Facebook page. Chess, Wordle, crosswords, texts, and the mundane things that other people do: it’s all on the phone. And much worse.
The picture of our age - a score of people standing on a platform waiting for a train, all looking down at their phones - is no exaggeration. When I first saw it, I laughed in derision, but now I am one of them.