Technology’s scary for the old and hairy

IF I could buy a Dansette record player with BSR (better sound reproduction) and that mysterious Dolby button with the little green light in the background, I would immediately shoot round to Comet with cash in my fist and start searching for old vinyl LPs.

I would probably need a bit of help changing the needle but it would all come back to me eventually.

And if my haunting of junk shops and car boot sales should also throw up a real typewriter I would be in Stone Age low-tech heaven.

What bliss it would be to hammer a post-vintage Remington with powerful blows of the forefingers, having bellowed at the sub-editors to hold the front page while sweet little girl cub reporters stuck lighted Senior Service fags in my mouth and I took heavy swigs from real glass bottles containing Double Diamond which, as we all knew then, worked wonders.

Then, back at mine, with the new bylined front page causing a sensation, I’d put something really romantic on the Dansette, possibly Adge Cutler and the Wurzels or George Melly belting out Frankie and Johnny.

What brought all this on?

Well, I’ll tell you what brought all this on. My eldest granddaughter, Hazel, aged eight, has just received a mobile phone and can do anything on it from shooting movies to filming the big fight at Madison Square Garden.

I reckon she could find the lost chord on it and put a new edge on Ockham’s Razor if she wanted.

See The Visitor (03-08-11) for full story.