It was only the size of a postage stamp, a pixelated blur that came and went with sound that didn’t match the picture, but it was a kind of magic back then.
Transported to your Surrey garden, six-hundred thousand strangers streamed down phone lines crossing continents into this tiny buffering barn.
We held our breath and squeezed into that distant doorway, willed the image to appear until its spluttering sounds and colours burst to life.
In awe we cheered distorted sounds, squinting to make you out across the many miles that lay between us, clapping, we hoped, in unison.
Could we be hyperlinked? Connected through our screens? It seemed surreal. But now HD, the wonder’s leeched become mundane and yesterday.