Even though I wasn't having an affair, it's terrifying how easy even a technologically incompetent fool like my dear husband managed to plug straight into my life. I started to rethink what I'd done that day and saw how easy it would be for perfectly innocent things to be misinterpreted. Such as if I'd written “love” at the end of an e-mail. Or had a brief, harmless whinge about husbands to a friend on the phone. Or snogged the TV repair man . . .
You can see why people on Big Brother go so mad so quickly. Even though they know they're being spied on, it's a huge pressure.
While Matt had his gadgets, I felt totally self-conscious . . . I started to behave as though I were being monitored. Not a nice feeling.
If I ever do conduct an illicit relationship with a man called Geoff, which, despite this little saga, is unlikely, I now know not to do it by e-mail or phone or at home or by car. So we shall meet in the woods that are walking distance away on Sunday mornings when the kids are with Nana and Matt goes for his bike ride.
There are ways of getting your own back on an overly inquisitive husband, of course. I did my own research in the wake of Massagegate and it turns out that you can employ a few quite simple counter-espionage measures. The internet offers bug detectors, machines that interfere with hidden voice recorders and mobile phones with inbuilt encryption. For £122, you can buy a small sweeper that alerts you to hidden bedroom cameras. And there's another little box that produces white noise to mask sweet nothings.
~ more... ~
No comments:
Post a Comment