When I was a kid, I owned the Usborne Book Of The Future, which, among other predictions, claimed we’d all use devices that might be nicknamed “ristos.”
Today I used my Apple Watch to have a short phone call, look out the front door while I was in the back garden, take a photo, check email, check my heart rate, receive newsflashes, look at the weather forecast, check the local tide table, take an ECG and a blood oxygen reading and confirm sundown tonight is at 708pm.
We are not living in the best of all possible futures. But I’m kind of fascinated by my Apple Watch again, having only recently started digging down into all the things it can now do sort-of properly, An internet terminal on your wrist that can do a one-minute breathing exercise with you to get you down to your resting heart rate isn’t bad. If I slip one AirPod in, the watch can stream music I’ve previously bought from Apple Music into it, and I’ve just found out I can load Downcast on to it.
My phone – and I realise this is mildly absurd – is a constant slight disappointment to me. But I’m from the generation that thought we’d have the world on our wrist.
