Four years ago I became an app maker. It began with a conversation between me and another mother round a kitchen table. What had happened to the art of learning poems by heart? We came up with an idea for a children's poetry app which would equip the digitally-native generation with a store of verse.
Businesses simply can't afford to wait to respond to customer queries anymore. Anytime, anywhere, instant access and richer interactions with some brands have also fostered impatience across the board, as witnessed by the customer care streams on Twitter, jammed with customers thrilled by lightning-speed responses or appalled by slow ones.
We learned this week that as part of the Conservative election manifesto the party will promise GP access seven days a week by 2020. This is to relieve pressure on hospitals, giving working people access to a doctor at weekends, with family doctors able to consult patients via email and internet video link as part of the plans.
Since the arrival of the smartphone, and in reality the arrival of the iPhone, technology has been slowly killing off a number of different connected devices as it consolidates them into one tool. From the humble alarm clock, through to the digital camera, landline, Walkman and satnav, the list goes on as smartphones have made more and more devices redundant.
In the golden age of app development way back in 2008, anyone with a knack for coding could develop an app, release it on to Apple's App Store and wait for the cash to roll in. Probably the most famous example was in 2008 when Joel Comm, the developer of iFart Mobile, a crude app that made, yep, fart noises, was earning Comm $10,000 a day.
Companies design for planned obsolescence - so that products breakdown forcing us to buy more and more often. But it was us that created psychological obsolescence. We want the newest, shiniest whatever the second it is available regardless of whether the slightly older, slightly less shiny thing is still working perfectly or is in no way demonstrably inferior.