Accepting there is nothing remotely sexy about a man
on a computer, Cyberspy definitely attracts a more mature and upmarket
bunch. Unfortunately these seem to be the sort of men who aspire to be lower
echelon IBM executives, although I spotted a few of the Breitling and Oakley
brigade. When I got close enough to ask the time, though, I spotted they
were fakes.
There is potential though, lurking beneath the surface, if you don't mind
fat necks overhanging striped shirts and you've recently had a frontal
lobotomy. These guys make chartered accountants look exciting and would give
Michael Portillo a run for his money in the sloppy gob stakes.
The men in here have recently graduated from skulking around Dixons or the
electrical counter in Boots. You know, the shifty looking ones with sweaty
foreheads who smirk at Ladies' unwanted hair removal devices and snigger
behind you in the queue if you're buying tampons. That's because they
probably think they're for incontinence, which they suffer from themselves.
They might have mobile phones in one pocket, but they've got a travel pass
in the other, along with a snotty hankerchief. You should never sleep with a
man who takes public transport once he's past the age of sixteen. If he
doesn't have a BMW or Porsche parked outside, dump him. Anyone who did have
a car over 1000cc wouldn't be seen dead playing on a computer in public.
There is a bookshop next to Cyberspy which stocks books on tantric sex and
alternative lifestyles. Go in and stare long and hard at the covers - it's a
much bigger thrill, costs less and at least the men in raincoats are less
predictable.
If the subjects people 'surf' are any indication of their conversational
potential, there's nothing too challenging here. My Net-snooping revealed an
unearthly interest in the X-Files, which goes to show that television is far
more interesting than computing. Why don't they just watch the real thing in
the privacy of their own homes?