This month's unveiling of the iPhone X, and iPhone 8 and iPhone 8 Plus will push the smartphone's popularity even further with worldwide sales of the smartphone reaching nearly 1.2 billion with no signs of demand slowing.
My son said he was bored for the first time the other day. Stumped, I was. Had I had wine in my mouth, it would have made the white wall abstract. Up to this point he'd accompanied his 8-year-old existence with a soundtrack of gun noises and whispers from inside an adventure-hungry and bellicose Lego community it was impossible to yank him out of.
Most of us like to spend our time doing something. Whether at work or outside of our working time, knowing we've a purpose and are making progress is reassuring. Being stuck in a period where little - or nothing - is capturing our attention, on the other hand, can feel 'empty' and unsettling.
This then is the joy of the fidget toy. It helps us to concentrate by preventing us from seeking extra stimulation elsewhere. If we spin and click instead of daydreaming, tweeting or buying random items on eBay, then this has to be better in terms of our attending to the task.
Maybe, with life being so busy, we have to prearrange it all, even if it means that we all end up celebrating our love in one identikit packaged, shrink-wrapped night. And yet... something about all that prearranged perfection makes me want that Boredom app to vibrate on my wrist or phone.
It occurred to me the other day that I don't really see myself as a 'widower' anymore. Nothing about losing my wife feels any different, but it's only really when I have to fill in the marital status section of some sort of form that I think, Oh shit! That's me!
The UK borrowed the term ennui from France during the height of 18th century European Romanticism and I'm so glad we never returned it. It was used to describe a rather fashionable kind of weariness, boredom and dissatisfaction with the world and a preoccupation with the emptiness of existence.
It's so easy to stay settled in our comfort zone waiting for 'someone' to come along and tell us it's OK to leave. Only we can give ourselves that permission. We can quieten that voice in our heads that says "you're not allowed to do that' and shout back: "Actually I am!"
The school or work week easily sags into a void in productivity. Everything seems so routine, and it's hard to keep ourselves awake when we can do nothing but anticipate the same things repeatedly.
Most things men buy to wear are appalling. This is particularly true of teenagers and men in their twenties, thirties, forties and fifties. After that, no man ever buys clothes again, they just put on whatever needs cleaning the least, regardless of whether it still fits because we know that we are never going to have sex again, so what difference does it make what we look like?