A ghost in the machine can spice up sport no end

The built-in obsolescence of gadgets brings its advantages and disadvantages, none more so than when watching a big game

Communism, outside of North Korea, is perceived to be dead and buried but it still enjoys a few laughs from beyond the grave, not least with the concept of obsolescence. Until recently if you wanted a product that came with only one guarantee, that it would fall apart within the week, then East Germany and the rest were the places to shop. Now with capitalist companies facing a crisis of demand they have resorted to building obsolescence into their goods to stimulate orders. An economic system that used to have as one of its guiding principles "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" has progressed to the rather shoddy "if it's broke, don't fix it, because it is cheaper to buy a new one [from your original supplier]".

All of which is profoundly depressing if you have a reputation for tightness to maintain and are loathe to start buying things willy-nilly. At time of writing the following are broken beyond (my abilities to) repair: the printer, the dishwasher, two mobile phones, a laptop and, scarcely credibly, the potato masher. How do you break a potato masher? I had always assumed they were indestructible.

Causing most concern, however, is something that is not wrecked but hobbled. The television, or more specifically the Sky Box through which we have to pass to access the television, has been playing up now for nearly a year. It works most of the time but when you most want it to work it, with a quite loud phutt followed by an ominously quiet phutt, ceases to work. What's more, like a committed trade unionist, it times its strikes for maximum impact. We will be, en famille, watching Dermot O'Leary say "and the act who will be going home this week is..." and phutt (forte), phutt (pianissimo) the screen will go blank. Cue much screaming and shouting and attribution of blame.

So frequent and well-timed have these interruptions become that we suspect that "a thing" has invaded the Sky Box and in effect taken control over our remote control. The children have even give a name to the ghost within the machine, calling him Little Donny after the midget whom Donny Osmond, in clear breach of the rules, invited around to do the cooking and serving up when it was his turn to host a dinner on Celebrity Come Dine with Me.

Suffice to say, Little Donny and I come bottom of the public vote every week. We are for ever applying for re-election. Rather than become rivalrous, however, I have become increasingly fond of Little Donny for he has added an extra frisson to my sports watching. The more exciting a game gets, the more one dreads his intervention. They say no one is bigger than the game but, for us, Little Donny is definitely bigger than the game, every game.

And while we may have missed much thanks to him, the children have at least gained some insight into our childhoods. To those who cannot get their heads round a phone being attached to a wall, the concept of a power cut is unfathomable. Thanks to Little Donny they now know what it was like to be brought up in the 70s.