There comes a point when you realise that, despite all the progress of modern civilisation, you’ve been robbed.
Not in some balaclava-clad phone-snatching episode, but that you’ve been gently, almost politely, relieved of something you once valued.
In my case, it’s music. I don’t own any of my own music any more. Barely a recorded second of my favourite albums of the past decade is mine to keep. The same goes for TV shows and films. If I stop paying the subscription — or the platform falls out with the publisher or the production company — it’s bye-bye Harry Styles’ latest.
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