I remember when I was growing up in London and coffee only arrived in black or white; my

mother bought a new winter coat perhaps every five years; and there were just three
channels on television – oh, the excitement in our house when Channel 4 arrived! – and we
had to heave ourselves up from the sofa to walk across and change them. When I mention
those days to my children, they regard me with pity – as if I am describing life in a
miserable far-off country. In the past decade we have been hit with an extraordinary
explosion of choice in almost every aspect of our lives. As a result, more energy than ever
before is wasted simply on the complex business of selection.

Do I fancy a morning coffee on the way to work? Well, then, which one? A cappuccino,
latte, flat white; Americano or espresso; 'skinny' (milk) or full-fat; double or single shot;
small, medium or large? Later, when I slump in front of the television with my husband, I
can access up to 50 digital channels with my Freeview box, and many more if I had cable
TV. Among them are numerous options that we don't even know are there, let alone want.
Still, I keep the remote control clutched tightly in my hot hand as I swiftly flick between
channels until I find one that catches my attention, watching it for just a few minutes, and
then moving on once it grows dull: maybe I'm missing something better on the other side.
Or, worse, when it is my husband who is cruising the channels, and I experience all the
second-hand stress of constant change with none of the control.

When visiting friends, there are often teenagers in the room, who seem to spend all their
time texting a friend or playing a computer game, and adjusting the earphones on their
iPod, while glancing every so often towards the television to check what's on the screen.
They are rarely still, perpetually surfing their innumerable options in music, conversational
partners, games and viewing material. All this while I try and have a sensible conversation
and catch up on what my friends have been doing. Worse still if I attempt to ask one of the
teenagers what they've been up to.

We tried ordering my groceries online for a while to save time, but we didn't like the way the
website kept offering up extra suggestions of its own: maybe you'd like to serve that buffalo
mozzarella in your basket with organic basil, for example. And, at checkout, it listed the
items we had often selected before and demanded to know if we had forgotten them that
time. This is technically helpful, I suppose, except that I wouldn’t want to reach the till in a
high-street grocery store and hear the assistant ask: 'Are you quite sure that you don't also
want salted butter? You did last Friday …'

On the one hand, I know it's absurd to complain about too many choices, when so much of
the world has so few. On the other, it is impossible to ignore the way that the rapid
expansion of instantly available alternatives is changing our behaviour and even reshaping
the way we think, not always for the better. The proliferation of television channels, and of
televisions and computers in different rooms of the average family home, means that the
traditional picture of a family sitting in the living-room, watching and commenting on
programmes together, is fading fast. Diverted by separate entertainment systems, family
members roost individually all over the house, or sit isolated in the same room.

I know it's easy to look back nostalgically at the old days but I'm glad I grew up when I did. I
experienced the first stages of the technological revolution with all the excitement that
brings, but still experienced some of the old patterns of family life.