Before he went for his scoff of steamed halibut and Windsor lamb with herb stuffing at Buckingham Palace on Monday, the President of the United States and Potential Hereditary Shareholder of the Common Grazings at Tong, near Stornoway, had a chinwag with the Foreign Secretary about Brexit and mobile phones.
Not any old iPhone or Samsung, you understand, but that other brand that we cannot pronounce which has been in the news. Huawei. Hoi-y? The US wants us not to use this Chinese tech in our national texting set-up as they could be bugging us in Beijing.
Yeah, and who else bugs us? The NCA, MI5 – but they are on our side – and the CIA, the FBI, maybe even MFI. The problem is that Theresa May and her security advisers don’t see any problem with using Hoi-why in anything except the core of these SMS systems. No, don’t ask me. I don’t know what the core of a messaging system is either but it is, er, probably, er, somewhere in the middle of it. Understood that? Good.
However, Mr Trump also wants a wall of some kind built around any Chinese technology so they do not get the chance to eavesdrop on all our private conversations. That could be embarrassing – especially his. He also wants Britain to do the same and as soon as he set foot on British soil – or maybe it was American soil because it was at their ambassador’s residence – he set about chinning Jeremy Hunt about harmful Huawei and jeopardy from China.
I am following events closely because my daughter wants a new mobile phone. She may get one if she stops talking back to me, helps with chores and takes her dog for a walk twice a day. Otherwise, she will get a cheaper phone. It’s like this: it’s my way or the Huawei.
Any new mobile phone you buy is very expensive nowadays. Many people are finding out the hard way that they have to put a protective cover on any mobile because they are so shiny that they are slippy and liable to crash to the ground. That can be a financial disaster – especially if it is not insured – and who remembers to do that? New models of some mobiles are up to £1,000 now. It is getting so bad that when you fall over and hear a crack, you pray it’s your leg.
I thought a leg had snapped when those kids in that dance troupe collapsed in a heap the other night on Britain’s Got Talent. It had to happen because there are too many dancers on talent shows now. Here is a fact that some people may not like: dancing is not a proper talent. It is just a routine that anyone can perfect with enough practice. To cobble together a show with 20 or 30 kids trained like poodles to prance about does not make them talented – and the choreographers even less so.
Of course, I blame Diversity, cute youngsters who won that show 10 years ago. Please join my protest by writing to ITV to ban talentless juvenile hoofers from the stage of the Hammersmith Apollo in west London to make way for more heart-rending singers, more death-defying stunts and more Susan Boyles.
When we were last in London, I was on a bus and used my phone to work out how to get to Oxford Street. Happening to look up, I noticed the woman across from me rolling up her jumper and feeding her young son. A prude I am not, but I was shocked. I told Mrs X about it afterwards but she responded by saying she was very disappointed in me. “You men are all the same. Feeding her child is what a mother should do at any time. That is just natural.”
I replied: “I don’t know what was so natural about that. She was feeding him Hula Hoops.”
Having wifi so customers can use their mobiles in their premises is one way for businesses to lure customers in – also, sometimes, to make money from them. Most pubs and restaurants in Stornoway have free wifi, but that is not the case elsewhere. Later that day, I was up and down Oxford Street looking for shoes that did not cost £400 a pair. I decided to make the task easier by searching online and found a wee pub on a side street with a wifi sign in the window. However, it needed an elusive secret key.
I asked for the password and the barman said: “You need to buy a drink first.”
Fine, I thought. It’s worth paying central London prices for a wee while to get out of the deluge and have good access to wifi. The small glass of coke cost me £4 and then I asked the poker-faced bar steward for the secret string that would connect me to the outside world.
He said: “I told you already. It’s youneedtobuyadrinkfirst. No spaces, all lower case.”
