Wearables and the coffee shop experience

I heard an interesting article last week on Radio 4's Today programme about so-called 'wearables' -- wearable technology such as smart watches. This article covered the uses to which such wearable devices can be put -- transferring our personal data to other devices in order to make our lives easier, for instance. The example given, which really made my ears prick up, was that your smart watch might be used to transfer your personal beverage preferences to the computer at your local coffee shop, with the result that your coffee would be ready and waiting for you on your arrival. No need to queue. No need to take time to decide whether or not you'd like to try the coffee of the week.  No need whatsoever to speak to another human being. Simply grab and go -- in the most literal sense.

The general gist of the Today programme discussion covered the ethics and data protection aspects of such practice -- is it safe or desirable for people's personal data to be transmitted in this way? Research showed that opinion on this issue is divided, with, perhaps predictably, the very young (those already most comfortable with mobile devices, social media, etc.) voicing the least concern.

But my interest lay in the social -- or lack of social -- aspects of such practice in relation to the coffee shop experience. I actively enjoy going into a coffee shop, standing in a queue, observing the people around me, interacting with the barista to order my coffee (pass the time of day, have a joke...). I can't imagine anything worse than grabbing my coffee and leaving without any social interaction whatsoever.

Am I unusual in this, I wonder? Or am I one of many set-in-their-ways, middle-aged people who feel just the same? (And, as a largely irrelevant aside, who takes a word like 'wearables' seriously anyway?!)

What it means to be British -- a philosophical question

The British Social Attitudes survey has been in the news recently. Not surprisingly, in view of the growth of the hard right in the UK, it appears that our social attitudes are hardening as well as our political ones. This is particularly so in relation to 'Britishness'. Thus, 95 per cent of respondents believed that someone had to speak English to be British; 77 per cent thought that it was important to have lived for most of one's life in Britain in order to be British; and 74 per cent agreed that it was important to have been born in Britain to be British.

This whole debate is, of course, an example of the philosophical puzzle of essentialism -- what is it that makes something the thing that it is; or what is its essence. This is a notoriously difficult problem in philosophical circles. Is something's essence just one quality (being born in Britain), or is it a combination of qualities (being born in Britain, speaking English, having lived most of one's life in Britain). And, if the latter, is it possible to remove some of those qualities, but for the thing still to retain its essence (can someone who speaks English, was born in Britain, but who has not lived here for most of their life qualify as British?). And, if you go on removing qualities, at what point does the thing lose its essence? The classic philosophical example is that of a ship which gradually, over time, has its planks replaced until, eventually, none of the original planks remain (the ship is only made up of replacement planks). Is this still the same ship, or has it lost its essence? (One might ask the same question of human beings, whose cells are continually replaced throughout their lives. Is an individual still the same person at the end of their life as they were at the start?)

My husband and I were discussing the British Social Attitudes survey at home. After some thought, my husband suggested that what made someone truly British was the fact that they considered themselves British. But I'm not convinced by this. Take someone who was born outside Britain, visited on holiday, and decided to stay because they loved the country so much and felt so much at home here. For these reasons, that person might consider themselves to be British. But I don't really think we'd want to say that that person actually was British just because they felt they were British -- at least, not until they had lived here for a numbers of years, could speak the language well, etc., etc.

Our Tesco shopping delivery interrupted our social attitudes discussion. While I was waiting for my husband to bring the last empty crate to the door, I struck up a conversation with the driver. What was our conversation about? The weather, of course. 'That's what it is to be truly British,' my husband quipped, after the driver had  pulled away. 'Being able to talk to anyone at length about the weather!'

How true.