Coffee and TV

This weekend finally saw the long-awaited reconnection of cable TV, broadband and a landline (who uses those anymore?) at our new house in Camden. I think my housemates and I had been an internet-and-proper-TV-free zone for approximately 6 weeks before that, relying solely on DVDs, books, music and trips to the pub or walks up Primrose Hill to keep us entertained.

However, the minute the engineer flipped the switch on Virgin Meeeedia, a roar of approval erupted from Helen and myself, as we quickly searched the plethora of music channels for a My Chemical Romance video - and further shrieks of excitement were issued when we discovered two such items, one after the other.



We love this man.

Unfortunately, we had to get ready to go out that evening, so we couldn't spend as much time with our rediscovered beloved TV channels as we wanted to - which is probably a good thing...

Having been reimmersed into the world of 24 hour non-stop television-at-your-fingertips and hours-of-World-of-Warcraft-courtesy-of-big-fat-broadband got me thinking somewhat. As I sat on some church steps this lunchtime, watching the people of Commercial Road go about their terribly busy lives, my mind boggled at the amount of time I could have spent catching up on all the books in my bookshelf.

These are books which I have accumulated over time, with every intention to read, but which for reaons unknown somehow I haven't managed to find the time to do so. I've wasted six weeks. I can't excuse this behaviour, so I might attempt to find an explanation for it instead.

My reasoning is this: My brain no longer functions as it used to.

When I was a young girl I would read hundreds of books, voraciously. (Would I have known such a word if this were not true?) Reading a book is a simple pleasure most anyone can partake of. You pick up a book, you begin reading, you don't stop until you have finished the book. Reading a book is linear. (Unless you're reading one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books - remember them? I used to skip ahead and cheat.)

Lately, I find myself unable to finish one book before I begin on another, so beginning a form of multitasking whereby I flit helplessly from one book to another and yet another - giving my undivided attention to none of them.

But I can't help how I read now. Years of sitting in front of a computer (since I was 7, to be exact) have conditioned my brain to forego the linear way of doing things, in favour of the more widely acceptable "multitasking" - a term which has itself been borrowed from the lexicons of computer geeks everywhere and has now become (shudder) "fashionable". People multitask at work. Housewives multitask, for heaven's sake. Can you honestly say you know anyone who is able to finish one task completely before moving on to the next? Didn't think so.



And they said men were incapable of multitasking...

So yeah. TV and internet are back. Primrose Hill won't be seeing me anytime soon, unless I can pick up WiFi up there. I can't believe I've given this blog my attention for so long - I'm sure I have to do at least three other things.