Shifting sands

UPDATE: Do you see what I mean?

Do you??!!!

On the day that Ramadan begins as well.

What in the world are we coming to? How could things have changed so dramatically in such a short time? Everything these days is time-shifted so that we can avail ourselves of more choice, and yet we have ended up more in thrall than ever before. I wonder if Mr Bell could have had the faintest idea what monumental effects summoning Mr Watson in 1876 would lead to?

Here we are in a world where we can watch time-shifted TV programmes on our mobile phones via 3G - can save an entire series, if we have enough memory, to watch en bloc at our leisure. I have not yet got into TiVo or any of that stuff, because I honestly don't mind that much if I miss any programme on telly. It'll be on again in due course, and often a lot sweeter for it.

Of course, nowhere is the time-shift phenomenon more apparent than in the world of football. I mean, FFS, kicking off a game at 3.25 on a Thursday afternoon! Where's the sense in that? Also, far too early in the season to be biting your nails over a penalty shoot-out in some crappy sports bar off The Strand. But the best aspect of this Stargate style existence has to be the opportunity to return to a golden age. I was chatting with the checkout lady at Waitrose yesterday, who jokingly asked me if I was 21 (though the legal age to buy alcohol is 18, the Government has again launched a lame initiative called Challenge 21) as she put the wine through.

"Wish I was!" I said. She laughed, and said:

"Do you know, I'm not sure I do..." After a pause I said:

"Oh I definitely do." She didn't laugh again, but it was true, what I said to her. I really do wish I was 21 again. Not with any caveats, such as 'knowing what I know now' or anything, just... 21.

Come on City!