And theyre off

Sitting in the pub last night, we were talking about a concept that is – apparently – not too far from fruition. The idea that one could turn on the television, and be presented with a list – like a buddy list on the messagy thing, that would tell you which of your contacts were also watching television, and what they were watching. And then you could message them and ask them what they thought of the programme.

Apparently this sort of hardware (or software, whatever – well move on to the more specific differences between software and hardware very soon) will be available quite soon.
From a retailer near you.
Sorry, it sounded like I was being paid to say that.

Anyway, from this conversation came the natural next step, the idea of pressing one simple button and being able to see your contacts, sitting on the sofa, watching whatever they were watching, and then be able to talk to them about it.

The problem, of course, was that quite often, when people are sitting in front of the television, or when they just have it on, theyre not watching it. Theyre doing something else. Theyre doing something – and I dont want to put you off your friends, here, because its almost certainly put me off mine – that you really, really dont want to see. Or think about.

God, said one mate; they might switch on and find you scratching your nuts.
Or it might be just at the point when you walk out out of the shower, said another.

Yeah, or while youre wanking in front of the Horse Racing, said Graham.

At that point the table went quiet. It wasnt that hed described something unimaginable, or illegal. It isnt. I dont think.

It was just that hed made it sound like something everyone does. And he actually looked to the other men in the group to back him up. Because, it seemed, it was a completely normal practice, something that men just do.

Um. It isnt, is it?

What would attract you to the idea to begin with? The sweaty muscles bouncing against each other? Its a horse and a midget!
The tight trousers? Its a midget on a horse!
The crop and the whipping? Its a Horse. And a midget!
Wouldnt you have to speed up exponentially towards the end?
Might you not pull it off by mistake?
I think you might.
I would put it at about 3-1.

And how would you discover that, exactly?
Well, I suppose theres not much for a young man to experiment with on Saturday afternoon apart from, well, a horse. A horse and a midget. Pounding away. Rearing up in the saddle. Beating off the competition. Coming down the home stretch.

Oh, I dont know. I would have never thought that little men on large sweaty beasts riding competitively round in circles was that sexually arousing.
But yeah, I suppose, depending on your taste, it is a little racy.