Tragically, perhaps, the noise of my e-mail alert software never fails to trigger a mild frisson. But this time the message allegedly comes from someone with the unlikely name of Chauco Carreri, who, for some reason, wants to sell me a mortgage - an option I never plan to explore.
Just 30 minutes earlier I received another equally pointless message from someone else with a non-name like Mart Thakrow, trying to convince me that, first, I am in debt and, second, I can remove it instantly by giving him some money. The spam before that, of course, was porn.
The take-up rate for any of this dross is close to zero. What grates is that it wastes time: only a snippet in each case but, over the course of a lifetime, those all add up to a useful amount of time.
According to the Sydney Morning Herald, spam costs the global economy almost US$30 billion a year in bandwidth and storage and efforts to fight it. What a swindle. I agree with the managing director of America's National Co-operative Bank, Russ Schofield, who describes it as 'theft'.
The solution seems to be one with bonus appeal for obsessive compulsives who have run out of surfaces to clean, given its antiseptic name: 'e-mail hygiene'. The meaning of this shining addition to the digital dictionary can be defined as zero tolerance towards spam: a sensible policy in view of how many millions of in-boxes across the world are contaminated with the stuff.
If you want to keep your in-box squeaky clean, never download an attachment from a stranger, as you are warned repeatedly, especially if the subject line is some kind of gently insistent come-on like the 'Drink me' sign on the dubious bottle in Alice in Wonderland.
It is amazing how many intelligent people commit this error from inattention, boredom or sheer loneliness.
