Kate Middleton and the iPhone 5

I need to finish a piece of work in the next couple of hours. I’m working from home, which means I’m already being disrupted by the ongoing remodelling of our kitchen and the occasional disappearance of mains electricity as part of that process.

Worse still, having no electrical power cuts my internet connection off. Our resident teenager is taking it particularly hard. “It’s like the end of the world”, he says through mouthfuls of sausage roll. Eating is the only offline activity he can think of at the moment.

However, this cloud has a silver lining. Losing my internet connection creates fewer distractions.

Distractions like checking Google for the latest news. It tells me that Kate Middleton and the new iPhone 5 are currently trending. This apparently means they’re both immensely important to many people.

The most obvious difference between the iPhone 5 and Apple’s previous phone is that the updated device has a larger screen. There’s more on display than before, you might say.

The Duchess of Cambridge is in the headlines for a similar reason.

Now, some people have suggested the Duchess shouldn’t have been sunbathing topless in a private garden. They think she should cover herself at all times just in case she’s seen en deshabille by someone who isn’t Prince William. Maybe a thin layer of gold paint would suffice, rather like an Olympic letter box or the unfortunate Jill Masterson in ‘Goldfinger’.

Others say it’s an invasion of privacy, none of our business and is no more in the public interest than hiding a webcam in George Osborne’s bathroom or publishing Hannah Cockroft’s tax return. They say – and I’m in agreement with this group of people – that being famous doesn’t automatically make you a contestant in a ‘reality TV’ competition.

The truth is that neither Kate nor the new iPhone is remotely important in the grand scheme of things. Yes, the bigger issues of security, privacy, technology and communication are worth talking about… but getting excessively excited about a mobile phone and a half-naked woman? Not unless you’re a 14-year-old boy.

If the iPhone 5 offered time-travel, it would be worth discussing at length. If the photos of Kate had revealed the inner workings of a cyborg, newspapers could make a case for publishing them.

But these current reports are only about increasing sales, not about changing the world.

Anyway, that’s why I’m rather pleased the plasterer has switched off the electricity. It means I can get on with my work and not have this kind of trivia on my mind. Which, of course, it isn’t.

Right. Where was I?

First published on vivalewes.com 20th September 2012: http://vivalewes.com/

A science-fiction double-feature

In the past week there have been two significant events in my life. I have lost my kitchen and discovered the new 'Total Recall' film. Curiously, both are connected.

Total Recall, as you may know, began life in 1966 as a short story by Philip K Dick. The original story tailed off into complete fantasy, probably influenced by the author’s preferred medication. A couple of decades ago it became an action-packed science fiction adventure starring Arnold Schwarzenegger - and now it's been remade with Colin Farrell acting out a different plot. Arnie's movie asked whether our hero was confused by an 'artificial memory' he'd chosen as an alternative to a proper holiday. And Colin Farrell's story has many a nod to the earlier film while following a number of new secret-agent story elements. (Yes, chaps, there really is a woman with three chests in the new film - and not in the same sense as Portia in 'The Merchant of Venice').

I rather enjoyed the film once I'd realised it was neither a remake nor a brand new concept. You could say it was 'inspired by' the original version, not unlike the new VW Beetle, a mock-Tudor executive home or a microwave lasagne.

Anyway, one of the reasons we had a family night out at the pictures in Uckfield on Saturday was because our lounge is currently stuffed with the former contents of our old kitchen. We're mid-way through having a new kitchen fitted.

The previous kitchen had seen better days... and many of them, too. It had been given a facelift in the 1990s, which helped to explain the odd combination of brushed chrome and flaky varnish. Fortunately, we're blessed with a decent kitchen designer and supplier in Ringmer.

First, of course, the old kitchen needs to be removed. That's why we have breakfast cereal balanced on the TV in the lounge. That's also why there's a pile of old kitchen units in the back garden, guarded by a couple of puzzled cats who haven't quite worked out where their food has moved to. For several days the kitchen area looked distressingly empty and tatty. Previously-inaccessible cobwebs were revealed. The fitter's pencil marks on the wall gave the impression of a graffiti lesson for infants.

Stage two is now underway as the new kitchen units arrive. But d’you know what? It all seems rather familiar. Yes, it's clean and shiny and 21st-century but... well... you can't help wondering whether you should have just left it alone. Whether a quick wipe round with a damp cloth would have saved all that work. Let's face it, the important stuff is still roughly in the same place.

All of which has me speculating whether Colin Farrell thinks the same about his film.

More importantly, I'm also wondering if that embedded technology from the film will ever make it into real life. Mr Farrell's character had a mobile phone implanted under the skin of his hand. Right now, I'd be very happy with a hotplate.

First published on vivalewes.com 13th September 2012: http://vivalewes.com/

Somewhere beyond the sea

He's back. The quick-witted guy with the shaven head and a talent for fixing problems. A snappy dresser who attracts many women yet rarely notices the effect he has. Someone who frequently irritates his superiors but makes friends nearly everywhere he travels.

Sadly that's not a description of me, although I’ll admit we do have a few traits in common. I'm talking about the ever-impressive Italian detective Inspector Montalbano, who's just started a new series on BBC4.

I reckon the main difference between us is that Montalbano avoids my fondness for inappropriate humour that can ruin any moment. No-one really wants a laughing policeman.

Anyway, Commissario Salvo Montalbano works in the fictional Sicilian town of Vigata; a place that seems to be the perfect holiday destination. And the more I think about it, the more Vigata seems to be rather like Lewes.

Vigata - or perhaps its real-world location Porto Empedocle - is a long-established town with plenty of history, high-quality restaurants and tourists. It's acclaimed for its writers and for a colourful annual parade with a religious theme. You’ll even find a decent firework display.

The two towns could almost be twinned if it wasn’t for the complaints you’d hear across the English Channel from Blois and Waldshut-Tiengen.

Yes, Lewes and Vigata certainly share a great deal of culture and tradition. But one of the things they also share is my label of ‘tourist destination’ rather than ‘potential home’.

I'd love to visit but I really don’t think I want to live there. Aside from the constant trek of sight-seeing visitors past your front door, there's a somewhat disconcertingly heavy police presence, there’s the invariable challenge of trying to fit in with the local community - and all this set against the persistent background of Mafia activity.

I imagine things are much the same in Italy.

Incidentally, my wife finds Montalbano as compelling as I do, although not for all the same reasons. I noticed she wasn't as distressed as I was when Montalbano's swimming trunks fell off in the most recent show. Still, she says I should be reassured that Salvo and I have a similar haircut.

In fact, she’s actively encouraging the similarities. As we finish our arancini and drain a glass of prosecco, my wife poses a question. "Can you speak with an Italian accent?", she asks, seductively.

"Corsican", I reply.

First published on vivalewes.com 6th September 2012: http://vivalewes.com/