Let me say this: If I still had an aged aunt (which I don’t,
unfortunately, because they’ve all gone now and left me entirely deficient in
the aged aunt department, but if I did…) I would be perfectly happy for her to drop
in unexpectedly and peruse my YouTube history going back to the year dot and
have not the remotest fear of being discovered in the slightest impropriety
vis-à-vis my watching habits. That’s a fact. I’m clean, man.
Only she wouldn’t, would she? She would only get as far as
page one (recommendations based on things
I’ve supposedly watched) and erupt into exclamations of great disgust and
severity.
‘Jeffrey! What have you been up to late at night, you grubby
little rapscallion? What would your dear mother think of such behaviour? If she
weren’t already with the angels, this would send her to them as surely as you
are guaranteed to join the Devil’s brood. Take thyself hence immediately and
scrub every offensive little part of you with carbolic soap and a very strong
scrubbing brush, or there’ll be no peace for you, my lad, not as long as I am
here to forge your moral fortitude. Make sure the water is well bleached and
has ice crystals in it. And if I receive intelligence ever again of such
sordid, delinquent mischief, my tongue will be sharp and my scissors sharper.’
‘But Aunt Alice, I haven’t…’
‘No lies, you reprobate! The truth is there for all to see.
Away with you, and do not presume to sully my presence further until your skin
is glowing crimson with wholesomeness.’
But it isn’t the truth, is it? I’m innocent of the charges.
And if I wrote to Google and asked ‘Where the hell do you get the idea that I
watch this sort of stuff?’ they wouldn’t answer, would they? They never do.
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