Well, after 24 months of back-breaking renovations, I’d like to invite you back to take another snap. But that’s not going to happen, is it Google?
Why? Because you’ve gone and got yourselves in trouble for privacy breaches and your fleet of Street View vehicles has been taken off the road (read the article here). So it seems all the work I did on my old place was wasted.
My predicament: I’m sending my résumé to a lot of swanky ad agencies and newspapers trying to make a good impression. But should they transfer my address to your search engine to find out whether I’d be a ‘good fit’ for their organisation and culture, they’ll be returned a photo of Bonzo the big-balled Labrador taking a dump in my driveway against a backdrop of my plebeian palace.
So, unless prospective employers are philanthropists, or just plain pissed and type in the wrong address (which from my experience of Creative Directors may be my best hope), why should I waste my energy?
Sure I could move to a residence with a more agreeable Street View photo, but that’d mean I’d have to sell my house. And to do that privately, with the current pic on the net, I wouldn’t have a hope in hell.
Am I mad with you, Mr Google? Yes, I’m furious. And I’ve actually been dirty with you from as far back as Google Earth.
You see, when I was a lad (yep, here we go again…) I used to cosy up at night with a book, usually Enid Blyton’s Famous Five or Secret Seven. Accordingly, I developed a healthy sense of adventure. Weekends were spent exploring seaside locales in search of a pirate’s booty or evidence of smugglers. Like Daniel Defoe, and many kids my age, I dreamed of discovering exotic, uninhabited islands while sailing around the world…
But, with the introduction of Google Earth and Maps, everything changed.
Nowadays, the current generation of youngsters, armed with only an iPad or laptop and from the comfort of their own bedrooms, can visit any place in the world. And I do mean any place. Sadly, there’s nowhere left to discover. And apart from a special breed of teenager like Jessica Watson, active imaginations and spirit of adventure are rare.
Desperate my fourteen year old be given a taste of the good life as I remembered it, I coaxed him into reading just one of the Famous Five’s epic adventures. He reluctantly agreed. And I almost had him. Right up to page 10 when characters, Dick and Aunt Fanny were introduced. He laughed so much he almost soiled the sheets. After regaining his composure, he tossed the book in the corner, picked up his laptop and resumed his Google search for porn.
So Google, if you want to win over this unhappy consumer, you’ve got an awful lot of work to do (BTW, the recent Pac-Man addition to your homepage was a good start).
And finally, when you get your curious looking Street View cars back on the road, could you at least phone me before your next drive-by shooting? Then I can mow the lawn and move my piece-of-sh$# car out of the driveway and replace it with my mate’s Audi.
Note: Due to a number of requests on The Punch website to view the finished product, I have uploaded the above (still a bit of work to be done around the place, but I’m happy with the way things are shaping up).