He despises himself even as he presses record, red light blinking at stabilisers discarded, front wheel wobbling at new-found freedom.
All captured in high-definition, contaminated, its very essence altered by its recording.
He films it, but he misses it.
He sees a pixelated version of reality, but when he recalls it, he won’t remember how he felt at his son peddling into the unknown.
Still, he drops it onto his feed, feeds the lie, the next episode in his fictional life, each like and share hollowing him out still further.
Never again, he says. Until the next time.
**
I will always remember going to see The Divine Comedy at the Albert Hall and when Neil played my favourite song, I was determined to record it, so I could watch it over and over again. Except, the video came out crap and I didn’t get to enjoy a beautiful song. So, that was lesson learned, and the spark behind this 100-worder. I’ve seen people meet Andy Murray but not actually look at him, only through their iPad as they film, when he’s standing right next to him. It’s so infuriating.
Just Punch The Clock 