Shortly after I began writing this, a message flashed up on my computer screen warning me that "Tiredness can kill. Take a break." After lying down for a while and having a strong coffee, I am now struggling on with it. Fortunately, another sign has just flashed up saying, "To completion of article, 36 minutes." I pressed on and was making good progress when yet another message flashed up, saying: "Caution, new paragraph ahead. Finish your thought."
I was going to tell you that of course these messages didn't pop up at all, but then, would you believe it, a message did pop up saying that my computer had a pressing need to update itself and would be restarting itself, thank you very much, whatever work of literature I was currently engaged in. To be honest, I was quite firm with the computer, telling it in no uncertain terms that actually I did mind if it restarted itself and, if it was all right by it, then perhaps it could remind me about its personal needs four hours later, when I happen to know I'll be having lunch.
Machines of all descriptions and in all sorts of places are getting a little bit chatty. My local bus stop has just learned its first words. In the old days, a few of us used to wait there, all facing the direction of the impending bus, frozen in an agony of expectation not knowing whether the bus was just around the corner or had never, in fact, left the depot and been totally withdrawn from service. Now we look at a little dot-matrix sign that tells us how many minutes the bus is from being with us and how long its little friend is behind it. This has had a deleterious effect on the bus queue as people are no longer looking down the road with hope in their hearts but simply keeping half an eye on the all-knowing sign. Wistful yearning for invisible buses has vanished into a golden age.
I'm told that the new Jaguar has an electronic lady on board who will introduce herself when she thinks you might be running low on petrol. She has a seductive throaty note (much like the new diesel Jaguar XF) so male drivers may not notice for a while that they are actually being nagged by their own car. In truth, she is mild mannered compared with the harridan in the satnav. It's a pretty sad fact that almost half the drivers on our roads are now being continually bullied by an electronic tapeworm with a spatial superiority complex.
Satnavs may sound friendly when you're following their instructions, but deliberately take a wrong turning and they get nasty. Their voice will suddenly drop from a major key to a minor key, adding a subtle but powerful note of disapproval and menace. In truth, that's what my wife does - and they may not have incorporated that feature into satnavs yet, but I'm sure it's coming.
The government spends an increasing amount of our money talking back to us in huge communication campaigns, and it drools at the possibilities new technology opens up for state-sponsored pillow talk. It can't be long before your bus stop is telling you: "Obesity can kill. Try walking." The government likes to think that it's an angel on your shoulder. Fortunately, there's the commercial world to sit on your other shoulder. "Your bus fare for a year could have been a down payment on a Jaguar." Or, "While you're waiting, why not have a quick drink?"
Once your bus stop is offering you a range of opinions, warnings and exciting opportunities, it will seem like you're actually standing in some kind of virtual community centre. At this point something interesting happens. The great British public don't talk to each other at bus stops precisely because we don't want a range of opinions, warnings and exciting opportunities. If the bus is more than five hours late, we might make a passing comment but we don't want to form a discussion group about it. Machines have found their voices, and they're beginning to use them at every given opportunity. It's not therefore surprising that they're beginning to seem a little bit chirpy, a little bit full of themselves, and a little bit, well, dull. I'm beginning to think that I might not let my computer update itself after all.
Guy Browning, the author of Maps of My life.