Sharing   4 comments

What is the obsession with sharing these days, especially on the Internet. Everytime I read an online newspaper, it wants me to share the article with all my facebook, twitter or other friends. If I want to read an article a friend of mine has read, I cannot do so unless I sign up to an “app” that requires to know my inside leg measurement and demands permission to post on facebook anything it likes in my name. To read the article, I have to copy the title and paste it into google, which takes me to the article as it appears from whatever source.

I also have to “like” things, and if I do, there they go, posting away on my facebook wall. Sometimes you click on things that are either plain bizarre or you suspect they are downright dishonest, and forever more they claim you like them on your facebook wall several times a week. Am I unusual for wanting a bit of privacy, for wanting to decide what I share and with whom. Even the great Zuckerberg keeps secrets, apparently this weekend guests turned up to his girlfriends graduation party only to find it was actually her and Zuck’s wedding.

I was perhaps brought up slightly isolated in my formative years. This is the family home where I lived from the age of well a few weeks I guess until I was 21.

By the time this picture was taken, in the early 1990s

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we hadn’t been living there for a while, so it was being used as nursing accommodation as well as accommodating the odd Landrover!! We never owned it, it belonged to the NHS. It was in the grounds of one of those huge victorian former asylums, where my father was senior consultant.

My brother, who was 18 months older than me, was an August baby, so when he went to school at 5 years and a couple of weeks, leaving me at 3 and a half years to play by myself for a couple of years, atleast during term time. Although she never worked, my mother didn’t bother with me much, so at 3 years old I rode my tricycle not only round the extensive grounds of the hospital but inside too.

The hospital was built in a circle, so I could ride round the corridors. Most people knew who I was, so I was given lots of sweets and when I went on the wards I’d get orange juice and biscuits too. Matron, who was very strict, invited me into her flat, where she would give me gin, which was a bit naughty, I mean, I was driving. Strange too, to contrast with today, when most parents won’t even let their kids out of their sight.

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The pics by the way, were taken with a Logitech Fotoman. The Fotoman was the first digital camera to be available commercially in 1990, it could take up to 32 monchrome images which were then transfered to a PC via a serial cable. I still have mine, however it doesn’t hold charge anymore, so not much use.

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Posted May 21, 2012 by bluonthemove in Publishing, Relocation

4 responses to “Sharing

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  1. Have I got this right? Gin at three years old? !!!!!! But what a lovely family home. Looks like those exceedingly expensive jobs we used to see in Rickmansworth and Chorleywood as we drove home to our tiny place in Leighton Buzzard.

    Zucker obviously works on the principle of ‘do what I say, and not what I do’ or something similar.

    I stopped doing that idiotic sharing, app thing ages ago. Well, I stopped doing most things on facebook.

    However you are sharing this with the total world. Just saying 🙂 Nice photos though, glad you retrieved them and posted.

  2. I think I was 4 or 5 before I was given Gin. It wasn’t neat though, it was with tonic and not as strong as say you’d get in a pub. The house was only rented, but a nice house to grow up in. Given the technology of the time, certainly not megapixels perhaps decapixels at most, those pics did come out quite well. Thanks you.

    • Don’t forget to click on the reply thingy when you reply (if that makes sense). Brings up the automatic orange notice.

      Anyway, unbelievable, I thought I was introduced to drinking early but certainly not then!! And not gin either, that must have been in my late teens.

      One of my friends had a consultant father (can’t remember what specialty) and we all thought it was odd because they lived in a (huge) doctors accommodation flat when we all lived in houses. They didn’t have a TV either.

      By the time I got around to living in doctors resis, it was a bog standard room 😦 But still, it served. It was free. The hot water for the communal bathroom was incredible because it served the hospital. The kitchen could have been better. Or, the people who used it could.

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