SATURDAY night. 1971.

The Roberts family are watching the telly. That’s what we always did.

At the time, it certainly didn’t particularly feel like some enforced emotional bonding exercise. Far from it. It felt like…. well, watching telly.

But when I compare it to my family now, it looks very different.

Today we still all sit together in the sitting room after tea. Digesting the spaghetti on toast. That bit’s the same.

But we are all staring at our separate tablets or smartphones. All immersed in our separate worlds. None of this shared experience over a favourite programme where we all sit and laugh at it together.

Morecambe and Wise, Cilla Black Show, Dr Who, all gone . In with, You Tube, Snapchat, Facebook and Instagram. All separate of course.

A few months back I found my 10 year old son trying to change the television channel by swiping the screen. Ridiculous.

In my day you used to wrestle with clunky knob on the side and should this prove ineffective the technique we used was to saunter away feigning casual indifference before a swift u turn, catching the telly unawares, followed a thumping blow to the wooden top. That generally did the trick.

These tellies need to be taught a lesson.

The telly used to be considered the scourge of family life. “Turn It Off” was the cry from my Mum. A divisive and destructive box.

Now it looks like a beacon of familial togetherness. A variety show of warmth and depth. Brought alive by the other member of the family - Auntie Beeb.

And when my ten year old is writing nostalgically, in 2070, about how we used to sit together staring at our smart phones what will the world be like then? Maybe in the future we will all be Dr Who for fifteen minutes.

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