They’ve made a huge mistake... making Arrested Development online only.

Unlike most people blogging about Arrested Development, I won’t be offering any opinions as to whether the show’s fourth season managed to live up to the astronomical expectations built up by fans after its previous incarnation was cancelled seven years ago.

That’s because it’s currently only viewable (legally at least) on Netflix, and I really don’t fancy watching it on a tiny laptop, with lines of dialogue served like amuse-bouche in between marathon bouts of buffering.

So as not to cast aspersions on Netflix’s service, I’ll admit it’s the same across the board: my wife bought the new Batman on Tesco’s Blinkbox service last night, but after it took us three minutes to slog through the Warner Brothers logo, we gave up and resolved to postpone watching Citizen Bane until we next saw the DVD on sale.

Yes, I am unfortunate in that, for whatever reason, the electric string that carries internet TV into my house does so at a painfully slow rate (although I’ll blame Virgin Media anyway). But my options still remain limited, and streaming-only launches such as Arrested Development’s leave me lukewarm as a consequence.  

It is not just me and a tiny minority of electrically-challenged cavemen that feel slighted, either. Just look at the grumble-tsunami generated recently at the suggestion that Microsoft’s upcoming Xbox One console would require a constant internet connection even to play single player games.

For those living in new premises and waiting out the epochs mandated by providers before broadband services can be activated, those living in areas with poor provision, and even those who (dare I say it) just don’t much like doing things on computers, it’s frustrating indeed when companies decide we are ready to move our entire lifestyles online.

Of course, the argument in the case of Arrested Development is slightly redundant in that, even were it being broadcast conventionally, I would have to arrange access to an American network to view it.

Nevertheless, it does strike me as unusual that, with all the fourth season’s episodes being released onto Netflix simultaneously anyway, there is no concurrent DVD release. Well, not that unusual – there are clear branding and competitive advantages to Netflix being the only place people can go for their hit of Gob, Buster and the rest.

But even so, if Netflix had made a plastic circle available with the series on it, they would have my money by now. It’s the same argument that gets trotted out every time the Death of Print discussion takes place – people like to possess objects.

Whenever I am implored by the producers of a piece of media to “own it on digital”, an internal pedant seethes; I would not own a house if it was passed to me, brick by brick, by a surly foreman in between long slurps of tea. Nor can I own a TV show when it is delivered via sporadic squirts of electrons. Extend my metaphor and prove me wrong by all means; I’ll still be a lost customer for Netflix.

Photograph: Getty Images

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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Why relations between Theresa May and Philip Hammond became tense so quickly

The political imperative of controlling immigration is clashing with the economic imperative of maintaining growth. 

There is no relationship in government more important than that between the prime minister and the chancellor. When Theresa May entered No.10, she chose Philip Hammond, a dependable technocrat and long-standing ally who she had known since Oxford University. 

But relations between the pair have proved far tenser than anticipated. On Wednesday, Hammond suggested that students could be excluded from the net migration target. "We are having conversations within government about the most appropriate way to record and address net migration," he told the Treasury select committee. The Chancellor, in common with many others, has long regarded the inclusion of students as an obstacle to growth. 

The following day Hammond was publicly rebuked by No.10. "Our position on who is included in the figures has not changed, and we are categorically not reviewing whether or not students are included," a spokesman said (as I reported in advance, May believes that the public would see this move as "a fix"). 

This is not the only clash in May's first 100 days. Hammond was aggrieved by the Prime Minister's criticisms of loose monetary policy (which forced No.10 to state that it "respects the independence of the Bank of England") and is resisting tougher controls on foreign takeovers. The Chancellor has also struck a more sceptical tone on the UK's economic prospects. "It is clear to me that the British people did not vote on June 23 to become poorer," he declared in his conference speech, a signal that national prosperity must come before control of immigration. 

May and Hammond's relationship was never going to match the remarkable bond between David Cameron and George Osborne. But should relations worsen it risks becoming closer to that beween Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling. Like Hammond, Darling entered the Treasury as a calm technocrat and an ally of the PM. But the extraordinary circumstances of the financial crisis transformed him into a far more assertive figure.

In times of turmoil, there is an inevitable clash between political and economic priorities. As prime minister, Brown resisted talk of cuts for fear of the electoral consequences. But as chancellor, Darling was more concerned with the bottom line (backing a rise in VAT). By analogy, May is focused on the political imperative of controlling immigration, while Hammond is focused on the economic imperative of maintaining growth. If their relationship is to endure far tougher times they will soon need to find a middle way. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.