But it seems we don’t need them any more – we just need to ask our Uncle Sam.
This last week has seems some interesting political manoeuvring, whilst our Government squirms uncomfortably in it’s chair like a cornered naughty boy, pointing at their cousin on the other side of the pond and saying “it wasn’t ME! It was HIM!”
If the stories are to be believed, it’s actually both. Whilst there have been strenuous denials on the subject of the UK illegally monitoring it’s own people, the clever Matrix-themed twist is that we’ve actually just let our American chums do it, then looked over their shoulder at the results.
Is it true? Could that really have happened? Do you think anyone would actually tell us if it had? And even if someone did discover the truth, a quick Spooks-style surreptitious look at their internet history, who they’ve texted, the holiday snaps on Facebook and that ill-advised credit card purchase from that ‘specialist clothing’ shop ought to be enough to shut them up for good.
A wise man* once said “I always feel like somebody’s watching me”. (*Rockwell, in his 1984 hit of the same name. Yes, I do base everything on the pop charts of the 80s.)
He was nearly correct – it turns out it’s actually the internet, with the help of some biscuits. In case you’re thinking the Hob-Nobs have turned evil again, I’m actually talking about Cookies, those pesky little hard-to-explain internet things that hang around on your computer and tell the corporate universe what you’re up to. Look at a Justin Bieber CD on Amazon (purely for research purposes, obviously) and every other website you visit for the next week is shoving the annoying tardy teen concert giver in your face. Ew.
After a while, the Cookies gather enough info about you from everything you looked up, purchased, information you entered into a web form etc., that they gain sentience, and wind up sitting on your sofa, eating you Doritos and telling you why you’d like the new Tom Cruise DVD, because of your love of Star Trek and garden gnomes. (I might have exaggerated slightly there, but you get the drift.)
And we tell the web everything. Twitter knows what sport I like and who my friends are, Facebook probably has pictures of you and knows if you’re in a relationship (or if it’s complicated), Tesco know what you like to drink and your favourite brand of chocolate, Amazon knows your taste in music and movies, your Bank knows all about your finances... and that’s just the tip of the terrifying technological iceberg. Factor in the camera in your screen, and the fact you permanently carry a mobile device that locates you to within inches and it becomes clear there’s no need to bug your house. You’ve done it yourself.
I’m off to fashion a helmet out of a colander and tin foil to prevent The Man from stealing my thoughts. Paranoid?
Too bloody right – you should be too.
This post first appeared in my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column in the North West Evening Mail on the 14th of June 2013. You can read the edited version used by the paper online here where it was retitled "No need to bug us - we'll do it for you". This actually should have made the final piece longer, as my title got incorporated into the text. Due to a variety of small edits, it actually lost words overall though.
Apologies for the delay in posting this - I was in Wales, climbing up large pointy bits of rock. I suspect this week's column may well be on that very subject...
The NWEM version rapidly received a rather odd comment: "You know what bugs me? Dictators,know alls, people who tell others what to do,and people who are scared of these devices,because they have something to hide,and a guilty conscience." by the interestingly monikered 'captain bluebirdseye'. Hmmm. As the whole purpose of the column, and it's location on a page titled 'Opinion' is for me to express my opinion on a subject, suggesting I'm 'dictating' what someone else should think is a tad unfair. I'm more than happy for you to make your own mind up. I'm certainly not a 'know all' either (at this point we'll gloss over the fact that Dictators generally tell others what to do, and skip the repetition in their diatribe), I can't say I'm particular scared of these devices, and I don't have anything to hide (except possibly the Sheene Easton obsession) or a guilty conscience.
So, to summarise, I would have been mightily displeased by this comment, were it not for the fact that the writer rather blew their credibility by using a made up name, after implying I had something to hide. What an arse.
(Listening to Ken Bruce on Radio2, and wondering what I'd do if I was 2nd person up on Pop Master after someone else got a huge score...)
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