Not being Miss Technology, I took until this summer to succumb to the iPod craze – and that in its smallest and cheapest form, solely in order to be able to listen to soothing things on the flight to visit Berenike. I hate flying, and Fr Z’s ‘podcazts’ and FSSP sermons looked like the way forward. Back in Britain, I thought I might as well have a go at the white headphones look, which seems to be almost uniformly sported by commuters these days. (Come to think of it, if the cybermen were planning a take-over, infiltrating iTunes would probably be the way to go – never mind those weird earplug things on Doctor Who in the last series but one. Anyway.) I was going to say, the white headphones look like all the Cool Kids, but apparently the iPod ceased to be cool in 2004.

Never having got into the Walkman thing either, I found walking down the street with music in my ears bizarre, and bizarre in an unexpected way. Didn’t they used to advertise iPods as things to let you ‘create your own soundtrack’? Well, that’s not a good thing. Life doesn’t have a soundtrack – or rather, not one you choose; and it’s only afterwards you realise what the soundtrack was. Like the way that mid-nineties pop music makes me feel nostalgic about secondary school, even though I didn’t listen to any of it voluntarily at the time. Or the (more predictable) way that Anglican choral music conjures up the college chapel, buttered crumpets, gowns, and choir socials.

Walking up the road with music filling the ears imposes a soundtrack where one has not yet been formed. What did fiddle music have to do with the trot up to my old flat to move boxes? That was odd. Worse, it can bend time by making one soundtrack collide with another. Walking along to a certain Divine Comedy song suddenly brought certain events of June 2001 into the middle of autumn 2007, and moved them from Oxford to Edinburgh. It was indeed as if someone had got the film rights to my life and completely rewritten the story. The iPod’s staying at home now.

Entirely unconnectedly: the DVD of My So-Called Life was much reduced in HMV, so I invested. I’d forgotten how amazing it was. For the sake of intergenerational understanding, it should be compulsory regular viewing. The horror of being, like, fifteen, and of being a fifteen-year-old’s parents, has never been so, like, well depicted.

EDIT: My iPod is revenged upon me. The little thingumy that connects it to the computer has broken!