Being watched, by Peter Morford

 My grand-daughter is always teasing me about what she called my candle-powered payphone. Now that she had graduated with honours in Physics and Artificial Intelligence she had the newest phone on the market as her father’s prize. She decided that I could have her two year old model. What’s more, she’d tutor me. So began my education in state of the art communication.

As time passed I got more emails than before. The spam filter protected me but I intrigued by some of them. For instance, I was congratulated for exceeding my exercise target, having apparently walked an average five mile per day for the last month. A map appeared, showing my driving routes over the same period. The places I’d visited glowed in red.

Stranger still, I had a message from an organisation called Reporting about Your Appliances. The first one told me that my car, a Renault, had a suspension fault with a 60% chance of failure in the next 200 miles. I should take it to my garage. I did. They agreed, fixed and charged.

A few days later, came another message about my computer, the gist of which was to thank me for visiting Sainsburys and invite me to complete a three-minute questionnaire about the shop’s cleanliness, price satisfaction, staff manners and parking. I might even win a prize. Similar reports were invited about my tour of Dudmaston, the Farm-shop at Ludlow and a visit to the Crown last Sunday and that morning’s visit to the dentist.

Another day there was a message about my electric kettle. Its thermostat was cutting the power prematurely. I granted that the tea had tasted rather poor lately. Another report warned me about my lawn mower. The blades were worn and were tearing the grass. I was beginning to feel that I’d had enough of this phony interference via shades of Big Brother and the surveillance society. I phoned Anna to find she was still in Majorca with Tom, so I simply said I had communication problems which could wait until her return.

For another two weeks I had further reports. The clothes-washer was running a bearing. I checked that with the shop which had supplied me a few months ago, they agreed and fixed. Miraculously, no charge.

Three weeks later, daughter and boyfriend were back, tanned, fit and happy to be home in autumnal England. She asked me how I was getting on with her superphone. I related and asked how did the App got the data, some of which was correct.

“Have you seen this article in the Times?” she asked, handing me a copy. It reported that new Renault cars would, in future, be equipped with an App which would detect all the errors and signs of careless driving. Speeding, lane-roaming, tail-gating, letting attention wander, clumsy gear changes and jerky driving – all would be noted and saved. And what to do with the information? The computer would reveal the findings to the motorist who would apparently improve his driving.

 But my suspicious mind could again see the sinister Governmental ploy, licking its lips over the new course of fines and taxes.