My wife has an app on her phone that tells her the name of any plant she points the camera at. It’s creepily accurate and deeply annoying, if occasionally handy. Even after 30 years in the UK, I only really know American plants.
“What is that, a hornbeam?” I say, indicating a tree along the path where we’re walking the dog. My wife holds out her phone.
“It’s an ash,” she says. “Don’t you know anything?”
“I know a hornbeam when I see one,” I say, pointing at another tree up ahead.
“Beech,” she says.
“Yeah, beech,” I say. “And what about this hornbeam here?”
“You have no idea,” she says, lifting her phone to eye level. “Actually, that is a hornbeam.”
“I told you,” I say. I’m no expert on British flora, but I know a little about odds.
Some weeks later I wake at 6.30am to see my wife standing at the open window, holding her phone out over the sill.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“Shh,” she says.
I get out of bed and stand next to her. The sun is rising over a bank of cloud; the day promises to be warm. My wife shows me the screen of her phone. It says: Eurasian blackbird.
“It tells you the name of any bird,” she says. “From the song.”
My wife sticks her phone back out the window, and presses record. The phone says: goldfinch. I think: between this and the plant thing, she is going to be insufferable whenever we’re outside.
“What’s the name of that app?” I say. “I’m going to get it for my phone.”
“I’m not telling you,” she says. “I don’t want you copying my things.”
“Getting an app because someone else has it isn’t copying,” I say. “It’s marketing.” Anyway, I tell her, disseminating unsolicited information in a scattershot fashion was my thing, long before the internet came along and made it everyone’s thing.
“So really, you’re copying me,” I say.
“Sadly, you’ve gone mad,” she says.
“And I don’t need the name,” I say. “I can find it myself.”
This proves to be a little optimistic. I can’t even find the App Store on my phone; I must have accidentally deleted the little icon at some point, and I can’t even imagine how to go about getting it back.
That afternoon I sit down on a bench outside, looking at birds and trying to associate each with a particular aspect of the general racket. After a few minutes I think: this isn’t really who I am. A robin lands on the handle of a nearby garden fork, and issues a short trill.
“I mean, it’s not that distinctive, is it?” I say. “Even another robin would have trouble with it.”
The cat glances up at me from where it’s crouched beneath the canvas seat of a folding chair, with a look that says: shut up. Across the garden my wife leans out the back door, phone held at arm’s length.
A week after that we are having lunch with friends, and my wife is again showing off about birdsong.
“That’s a wren,” she says, looking at her screen. “It’s just amazing.”
“I’ve invented an app called Cheesefinder,” I say. “You just point it at a cheese selection and it tells you what each cheese is.”
“Did you want some more cheese?” our friend Bel says, pushing the selection my way.
“He’s just jealous of my bird thing,” my wife says.
“We’re having a bit of trouble with the prototype,” I say. “At the moment it thinks everything is gouda.”
“He doesn’t like it when he can’t copy me,” she says.
“I can get your app whenever I want,” I say, producing my phone.
“No you can’t,” she says. “He can’t even find the App Store.” I shoot my wife a look that says: not here.
“What do you mean?” says our friend Andrew, who works in IT.
“He doesn’t know how to work his phone,” my wife says.
“How do you download the App Store app without the App Store?” I shout. Andrew maintains a neutral expression, but behind his eyes I can see his opinion of me being revised in real time.
“Just search for App Store on your phone,” he says.
“Search?” I say.
“Scroll up,” he says.
“That’s the torch,” I say.
“You’ve scrolled down,” he says.
I eventually manage to retrieve the App Store icon and download the birdsong app.
“So which package do I need?” I say. “Western European birds, yeah?”
“I’m not helping you,” my wife says. As I stare down at the screen, phone pointed toward the nearest window, I can feel myself losing interest already.
