(The piece begins with a striking lead image.)

See above.

(It makes a semi-ironic reference to mass culture in order to make a wider social point.)

For a time, I subscribed to Tidal. Being a fan of both music and my ears, I invested, for a couple of months, in high-fidelity streaming. I’d read the pieces from the scientists claiming that above a certain bitrate, it’s impossible to tell the difference in ‘quality’. But the scientists once said that the Sun orbited the Earth, so, they’ve been wrong before.

Consequently, my eyes demanded a share of the high-fidelity action. A timely increase to my credit card limit meant I bought a 4K TV. One of the few content providers in the UK to stream 4K pictures is Netflix, so I signed up. Instead of talking over the day’s events with my wife, or playing with my children, I now found my evenings were spent watching episode after episode of House of Cards, Better Call Saul, and Love. (I started watching Will Arnett’s new thing but didn’t finish the first episode because I got involved in a group WhatsApp about which animal I’d most like to be for a day*.)

I cancelled both Tidal and Netflix after two months.

(It features an anecdote about a celebrity.)

Once, I met Kevin Spacey. In a London pub. He stood at the bar, alone, with a plastic bag of books at his feet. Probably plays or books about films. I came alongside him, mostly unafraid of celebrity, thinking I might offer a ‘hi’ if the opportunity arose. He smelt of Spring. I opened my wallet to pull out a crisp £10 note (about the price of a pint in London) and, disastrously, my treacherous fingers lost grip of the faux leather and the wallet slid through space and fell directly into Spacey’s bag without a sound. He remained waiting at the bar. He noticed nothing of my calamity.

What to do? I gulped.

Cowardly decision made, I said nothing to Spacey, but knelt and darted a hand into his bag. Inevitability, it was now that he turned.

‘Hey,’ he said, in that voice, looking down.

‘I dropped my wallet,’ I said. ‘It went in your bag.’

He smiled. I straightened up, wallet retrieved, said nothing more and waited my turn.

I often think back to this moment. Spacey, not only a Hollywood legend, but running the Old Vic theatre, may have been my conduit to fortune and glory. I should have pitched him my Shakespearean werewolf story. Instead, I waited mutely. My beer, when it came, was disappointing.

(I use fashionable words like ‘narrative’.)

If I’d watched Netflix back then, I might have possessed the confidence to act differently. I’d have understood the importance of writing my own narrative. For, like my beer, life without control of narrative is warm and flat.

House of Cards, like Better Call Saul, is a TV series about narrative. Sure, all shows and films and novels tell us a story. (Unless they’re literary.) But control of narrative is at the very heart of House of Cards and Better Call Saul. These two popular American shows, shown in 4K on Netflix, are striking in the way they both have their protagonists struggle with the very same antagonist — personal narrative.

Both Francis Underwood and Jimmy McGill spend most episodes actively fighting to mould their own stories. There are sex scenes and gun battles and car chases, yes, but, through manipulation, and Machiavellian mostly, the leads seek to write their own narrative. It is through changing perceptions that they seek to achieve a goal which, in both cases, is linked to personal ambition — to be president or a sleazy lawyer.

(It’s self-deprecating.)

As a Brit, the concept of freedom of equality is lost on me. Like American Football and peanut butter and ‘jelly’ sandwiches, it’s a foreign concept. Half of David Cameron’s cabinet went to Eton, England’s most exclusive private school. It goes without saying that they all attended Oxbridge. It’s not my social class that’s set in stone, it’s my story. Oh! to be American. (Donald Trump notwithstanding.) I’d definitely be a world-famous writer by now if I’d been born the other side of the Atlantic. My wife agrees.

(Low-brow comment masquerades as high-brow analysis.)

But, whereas the American Dream used to be factored on hard work to achieve potential, now industry has been replaced by storytelling, the ability to compose your preferred perception. It’s no coincidence that master’s degrees in Creative Writing have become so popular in recent years. It’s not so much that rich folks want to write the next Great American Novel or that everyone’s a dick nowadays, it’s that these grad students see the importance of learning to control their own narrative.

(I employ a sporting analogy.)

You’re probably American, so excuse my analogy, but Leicester City, a 5000 to 1 longshot, are currently looking likely to win the English Premier League. And they’ve got the world behind them by crafting their own narrative of underdog success. Indeed, it has been suggested by sporting pundits that Leicester have been the recipients of favourable decisions due to an unconscious desire by the referees to sustain the team’s attractive narrative. Nobody wants to be seen to kick the little man. What is largely unsaid is that the team are owned by a Thai billionaire, who recently gave all ticket-holders a free beer and donut (both Thai brands) to celebrate his birthday. Leicester City are not the Bad News Bears.

(The piece appeals to the tech community (or, at least, people who aspire to be part of the tech community).)

Control of narrative is as important to personal fulfilment as it is to commercial success. Tidal never escaped the narrative that it was Jay-Z’s vanity project. Uber’s story of convenience is currently overwhelming the narrative that London cabbies are trying to push — that the company is a tax-avoiding foreign parasite, hoovering up the livelihoods of decent London geezers.

(I use Medium’s range of formatting options to create emphasis.)

What the black cab drivers need to do is watch more television.

(The essay is short and its conclusion is shorter.)

They must learn from the way Underwood presents his wife as a viable VP or how Jimmy recasts himself as Saul, a different lead in a different story. The medium may be the message but control of the narrative is everything. It’s only through writing your life’s story that you can fulfil your dreams. So, instead of watching Netflix or talking to my wife or playing my children, recent evenings have been spent writing my imagined auto-biography.

(We end with a joke.)

Don’t worry, I’ll give you all a shout-out when I’m collecting my first Pulitzer!

*An eagle.