It used to be that when council workers gathered for a spot of al fresco maintenance you would see one bloke down in the hole doing the digging whilst his colleagues supportively congregated, leaned on their shovels and offered encouragement to the digger whilst nattering about the missus, the state of the nation, and footy.
These days, if the scene I witnessed yesterday morning was typical, there’s still just the one bloke down in the hole doing the digging, but he’s all on his own now because his mates, who are sprawled along the roadside in various lounging positions with their personal devices, are busy chatting with a faraway person (possibly the missus), texting (possibly about the state of the nation), or watching footage on tiny screens (possibly footy).
I’m still not sure about mobile phones. I sometimes suspect they’re part of another Borg time travel plot, moulding our minds and habits for voluntary assimilation in a not too far future.
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