OK, so not exactly a major issue, but – personally – I find that the shitness of a decade can be found as much in its minor irritations as in its grand historical motions. After all, people still look back fondly on the forties despite it having been, in many ways, the worst decade in the history of ever. Sure – the world was rent in twain by the collision of competing ideologies and sure, from the genocidal ashes rose the unceasingly peaceless firebird of all subsequent global disquiet – but at least no one ever started texting in the middle of dinner.

Because, right, if we were having dinner, all sat round a table, conversing and you suddenly leaned over and started whispering in your boyfriend’s ear, then had him whisper a reply, which then caused you to look noticeably yet coyly amused – that would be rude, wouldn’t it? But do it with a phone and apparently that’s just fine.

I know. It’s a small thing. A triviality. But if the broken window theory of crime prevention teaches us anything at all, it’s that shitness has its own butterfly effect: a butterfly starts texting during the appetiser in Connecticut and, 6 months later, a nice independent bookshop gets replaced by a Starbucks in Bristol. It didn’t seem like a big deal when you agreed to meet up with Darren outside the corn exchange that one fateful Sunday roast – but little did you realise that you had started a chain reaction that would lead us all, inexorably, to the fame of Chanelle Hayes.

It’s all your fault, oh ye careless custodians of the brave new broken world. Every last shitty bit of it.

Here is funny video for sharing on internet about 24 and phonez and dat lol