Nonstarters: The Notice

If you notice this Notice, you’ll notice this Notice is not worth noticing.

Many Kickstarter failures blunder into the gutter on the back of inept pitches and underwhelming products. This one, however, featured a fairly slick video for a good-looking object that seemed to do its job very well.

That job, however, is not one that most people in a reasonable emotional state could want done.

The “Notice” faithfully transmits the silhouette-envelope-globe notification panel from Facebook onto a Zuckerberg-blue plastic box in front of your monitor, keeping you aware of pending messages, events and friend requests via red LED numbers and noises.

Are we really so damaged as a culture that we need to be reassured that something is happening on Facebook even in the furtive moments when we have other sites up on our screens?

Facebook already feels like an ogre with a rope, constantly yanking me in to look at its holiday photos. Why would I want to invite that ogre through the screen and into the physical world?

Life could only become more tense with this thing staring me in the face, huffing tinnily and quacking numbers in red light to remind me I should be online.

Yes, you can set a threshold below which it won’t bother you, but it will still be there: the ogre’s rope, looped around your attention span and ready to be tugged.

And the reward for funding? Your name moulded into the casing of every unit made. I’d rather have my name inscribed on Geneva-banned cluster munitions.

Luckily, the Notice only achieved $4,169 of its steep $20k goal, but that’s $4,169 too much for my confidence in consumer sanity. What’s next, an implant that clamps to the base of your skull and shunts Twitter directly into your visual cortex?

Probably.

The Notice. Photograph: Kickstarter

By day, Fred Crawley is editor of Credit Today and Insolvency Today. By night, he reviews graphic novels for the New Statesman.

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Commons confidential: Vive May's revolution

It's a risky time to be an old Etonian in the Tory party. . . 

The blond insulter-in-chief, Boris Johnson, survives as Theresa May’s pet Old Etonian but the purge of the Notting Hell set has left Tory sons of privilege suddenly hiding their poshness. The trustafundian Zac Goldsmith was expelled from Eton at the age of 16 after marijuana was found in his room, unlike David Cameron, who survived a cannabis bust at the school. The disgrace left Richmond MP Goldsmith shunned by his alma mater. My snout whispered that he is telling colleagues that Eton is now asking if he would like to be listed as a distinguished old boy. With the Tory party under new, middle-class management, he informed MPs that it was wise to decline.

Smart operator, David Davis. The broken-nosed Action Man is a keen student of geopolitics. While the unlikely Foreign Secretary Johnson is on his world apology tour, the Brexit Secretary has based himself in 9 Downing Street, where the whips used to congregate until Tony Blair annexed the space. The proximity to power gives Davis the ear of May, and the SAS reservist stresses menacingly to visitors that he won’t accept Johnson’s Foreign Office tanks on his Brexit lawn. King Charles Street never felt so far from Downing Street.

No prisoners are taken by either side in Labour’s civil war. The Tories are equally vicious, if sneakier, preferring to attack each other in private rather than in public. No reshuffle appointment caused greater upset than that of the Humberside grumbler Andrew Percy as Northern Powerhouse minister. He was a teacher, and the seething overlooked disdainfully refer to his role as the Northern Schoolhouse job.

Philip Hammond has the air of an undertaker and an unenviable reputation as the dullest of Tory speakers. During a life-sapping address for a fundraiser at Rutland Golf Club, the rebellious Leicestershire lip Andrew Bridgen was overheard saying in sotto voce: “His speech is drier than the bloody chicken.” The mad axeman Hammond’s economics are also frighteningly dry.

The Corbynista revolution has reached communist China, where an informant reports that the Hong Kong branch of the Labour Party is now in the hands of Britain’s red leader. Of all the groups backing Jezza, Bankers 4 Corbyn is surely the most incongruous.

Labour’s newest MP, Rosena Allin-Khan of Tooting, arrived in a Westminster at its back-stabbing height. Leaving a particularly poisonous gathering of the parliamentary party, the concerned deputy leader, Tom Watson, inquired paternalistically if she was OK. “I’m loving it,” the doctor shot back with a smile. Years of rowdy Friday nights in A&E are obviously good training for politics.

Kevin Maguire is the associate editor (politics) of the Daily Mirror

Kevin Maguire is Associate Editor (Politics) on the Daily Mirror and author of our Commons Confidential column on the high politics and low life in Westminster. An award-winning journalist, he is in frequent demand on television and radio and co-authored a book on great parliamentary scandals. He was formerly Chief Reporter on the Guardian and Labour Correspondent on the Daily Telegraph.

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue