Pod people invade space

The Last Straw: It's no fault of Steve Jobs. His invention is a small masterpiece of engineering, I know. But I saw the cult B-movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers at an impressionable age, and as a result I just can't bring myself to buy an iPod.

It wasn't the classic 1956 version I saw: it was the good (but apparently inferior) 1978 remake with Donald Sutherland, Leonard Nimoy, and Jeff Goldblum among an all-star cast of creepy actors. If you haven't seen either version, or the even more inferior 1993 remake, I should explain that all three concern a takeover of the human race by aliens who replicate their victims. The clones hatch, fully-formed, from seed-pods that turn up mysteriously in basements and other badly-lit locations, and each hatching causes the targeted human to implode. Early in the film, nobody sees this happening. The imposters are able to pass themselves off because they also inherit the victims' memories. Only their complete lack of emotion arouses suspicion. The clincher is that, when confronted, they open their mouths wide and emit strangulated screeches. PLOT SPOILER WARNING! IF YOU PLAN TO SEE THIS FILM SOON, LOOK AWAY NOW. The chilling climax of the 1978 movie occurs when the separated hero and heroine are reunited in a street full of aliens.

They're about to have an emotional reunion, probably involving at least a hug. But instead, the hero opens his mouth wide and - Oh no! - screeches.

The film has been interpreted variously as a metaphor for McCarthyism, for nuclear disaster, and for the dangers of conformity and "group think". Nobody has interpreted it as a metaphor for the spread of personal music players. And yet every time I get the Luas into town, there seem to be more Pod people on board, staring back at me with expressionless faces. They don't emit strangulated screeches; but their little headphones do, and it's driving me crazy. I know. There's probably professional help available for this kind of thing.

Speaking of the Luas, why do they still put backward-facing seats on public transport? Nobody wants to sit on them. Apart from the fact that it may oblige you to stare at the expressionless face of a Pod-person, sitting opposite you in a forward-facing seat, it just doesn't feel right to have your back to the driver. This is not just a physical issue; social attitudes are to blame too. The very phrase "backward-looking" confers a stigma on anyone so described.

People want to look out the front of a Luas tram because that's where the future seems to be. As you cross the Liffey, heading townwards, you don't want to dwell on Heuston Station, which is now in the past. I know this is based on an outdated conception of the space-time continuum, but there is some justification. When you're on a Luas, it's the cars in front you're likely to crash into. The ones behind are probably harmless.

It's well known that backward-facing seats on aircraft are safer in emergency landings. Where they exist, on executive jets and the like, their occupiers even get different safety instructions: not to adopt the brace position, for example. But there are almost no backward-facing seats on passenger airlines. I would rest my case here except that, since Ryanair started charging for it, I leave my case at home.

For those of us taught as children that heaven was a place in the sky, the experience of flying - even with Ryanair - will always have religious overtones. And not just the actual flying. Waiting for a delayed flight from Heathrow recently, it struck me how closely airport duty-free areas correspond with the traditional notion of purgatory.

You've passed the security check, from which there is no return; but you haven't yet reached the boarding gates (pearly or otherwise). So now you're trapped in this in-between world, being punished for your sins. Time slows, and there's nothing to do. Yes there are shops, but these are full of things you've never seen on Earth - M & M dispensers, economy-size Swiss chocolate bars, etc - and would never normally buy. The air of unreality is added to, often, by the unavailability of food.

Even at the best of times, travelling home through Heathrow is like a near-death experience. This is probably because the boarding area for Ireland is a tunnel, through which you walk towards a bright light. (Okay, I made up the bit about the light.) If your aircraft is delayed, you can always - as I did - retrace your steps back to the main departures hall, and brave security again. But it's a weird sensation. You feel like a ghost, returned from the faithful departed, to walk again among the living.