The web may be a wonderful thing but if there is one thing that has recently been driving me potty, loopy, up the wall and has had me tearing my hair out, foaming at the mouth, uttering incoherent oaths and imprecations and tempting me to hurl a brick through my otherwise lovely flat screen, it is the increasing prevalence of advertisements masquerading as tiny movies. The Daily Telegraph, in particular, is a persistent offender.
Even at their least obtrusive, they are a permanent distraction, flickering images insistently drawing attention to themselves. However much you try to ignore them, there they always are in all their digital pointlessness.
Worse still are those that unfold across the page, normally directly over whatever it is you are trying to read so that you have to look at them if only to click the tiny 'close' button in the corner.
Given that most are selling the likes of Rolexes and Mercedes, the likelihood that they might tempt me to buy whatever they are touting is academic anyway. But even were I Roman Abramovich, it would put me off them for life. In fact, were I Roman Abramovich I think I would seriously consider buying the businesses concerned so that I could instantly fire their entire marketing departments. And get new advertising companies.