MANY women have It bags. The latest status symbol for a columnist is an IT bloke – and, na-na-na, I have several. They are techie men who add comments to my columns online.
IT blokes are cyber-stalkers. They follow my every word. Then beat me up. If only their tool was sharp wit. Instead, it's a thuddingly dull remark.
Within a new debate, IT blokes create – not add, take note – some interesting issues. The governmen
t has just started a review of the 2003 Communications Act, to address concerns emerging from "web 2.0" – the more interactive internet. It will examine privacy matters linked to sites such as Facebook and YouTube, among other points.
But there are subtler changes resulting from Web 2.0, stemming from the means it has created to add instant, often covert, comment.
If you read a copy of The Scotsman, rather than the website, I must offer specimens of my IT blokes' work, with apologies for the vulgarity. One comment described my column as "pisspoor". Another wrote: "Diary of a Nobody… by Linda Kennedy. Not much of a journo either!"
Don't get me wrong, everyone has the right to comment. I am a fan of free speech, but I'm an even bigger fan when it's punctuated and polished. This, for me, is where the cultural issues of Web 2.0 commence. Would I go to someone else's place of work and lob insults at them? No. So, for starters, life is already being coarsened.
But, if we must live in manner-less times, let's move on. More significantly, such verbal discharges make me lament the undermining of a newspaper institution, the letters section.
Letters pages were once a place for estimable arguments. People were thrilled when their compositions were published. Is all that elegance under threat? People react quickly online, often failing to form a sentence, let alone an opinion.
Third, such comments tend to be made under internet nicknames. These people are effectively hecklers, shouting "rubbish" at someone seeking humour in the oddities of life. Fair enough. But at a comedy club, you've got to be man enough to stand up and make your point. You might even get your target retaliating. Web 2.0 allows slights beneath an online disguise. It's an easy ride, eh, IT blokes?
What I mourn most of all, though, is the missed opportunity. Witty put-downs are a delight, particularly to the target.
But "pisspoor"? Is that the best you could do? Are you even sure it's an insult to liken me to a liquid some drink for its nutrients? Assuming you checked, do tell us how your wee whisky tasted?
I may start offering a service to write these guys' online insults for them, as I can denigrate myself far better. Seeing as you're using a modern medium, IT-bloke-in-question, why not update your insults? How about "her opinions are pants"? They're usually about them.
Or try original ways to show disdain for Page 9 of The Scotsman on a Thursday. Why not keep my "pisspoor" column for next day's fish and chips? You'll save on vinegar. Or how about using my page for clearing up after the dog? As you do so, growl: "Ha, I'll rub her face in it." Or be mean and green. Chuck The Scotsman in the recycling bin and make sure your mouldy teabags are right on my face.
Will the government examine this cultural dividend of Web 2.0? Or, perhaps, is self-regulation the answer?
As the debate starts, I confess I'm developing a maternal fondness for my IT blokes. Every week I check The Scotsman website, yearning to be able to coo: "Ooh, look! Their first witty put-down." I'm still waiting. Any time you're ready, boys.
Send in the clowns for an education to be relished"Make mine a qualification with cheese." "Comin' right up, madam." Ah, how soon will the queue at McDonald's resound to such shouts? After the McFlurry of publicity surrounding the chain's approval to offer courses, one presumes the resulting diplomas will be in running a restaurant – McDonald's studies – which makes them like an apprenticeship and hardly worth controversy.
More worrying would be any attempt to expand from burgers to boffins. I wouldn't want to study beneath the golden cloisters, not arches, of a McDonald's university. Nor watch the inevitable documentary investigating academic content, doubtless called Supersize MA.
Any takers for pride of east?YUGO for sale. One aggressive owner, the Serbian state. Several million pounds, ono. Seems a lot for one car? OK, it's the firm behind the Yugo that's actually up for grabs. Zastava manufactured the brown saloon that was the pride of east European car-making.
Outwith Yugoslavia, the Yugo had a reputation as tatty as its seats. It was mocked as "disposable" by a car magazine. 0-60mph in your dreams. What company, then, will want to buy the greatest embarrassment a western driveway once endured?
I can see just one buyer. Kosovo, the nation poised to declare independence. By taking over Zastava, they could rename the Yugo the Kosovo and create a pure traffic flow. It's ethnic cleansing with an engine. And not a drop of blood spilled.
• No matter how evil the baddie in the next Bond film, what's worse is the title. Quantum of Solace? It sounds like a terrible disease. "Bend over, Mr Bond. Let's see if there's any inflammation. Ah, yes, it's definitely quantum of the solace." Or is Quantum of Solace the boat to which 007 retires, after receiving a carriage clock which also fires poison darts? Is it even Q's real name? We must wait for the film and, meantime, brace ourselves lest the title heralds a swottier 007, with a Bond girl called Blue Stocking who whispers: "James, what a big dictionary you have."
