I am easily distracted, my attention grabbed by bright shiny objects, and I stare open mouthed at the latest and greatest excerpts carefully cut and presented for my delectation. I refer of course to internet segments, to the masses of real and fictional clips for me to watch, enjoy, salivate over, apparently exactly produced for my delectation, but don’t we all imagine that. The ability to browse endlessly is wonderfully fulfilling, takes not a jot of effort on my part, except to move the cursor just enough to bring the next minute or two of action for my endless appetite.
On a weekday morning I would stroll through Charring Cross, from Soho towards Oxford Street, stopping at each newsstand along the curbside. If a newspaper, magazine, or periodical was produced it could be found somewhere amongst those deliciously dingy establishments. A little effort was required, publications had to be picked from the rack, opened, read, or scanned, but the effect was the same. Potted life laid bare for anyone to peruse, or occasionally purchased I suppose.