The loss of the Windrush landing cards highlights the problem with putting our faith in machines

You can just imagine how it went down, can’t you? The Home Office’s destruction of Windrush landing cards is an act of tragic vandalism, both for the British families affected and anyone who’d naively hoped this year’s grim Rivers of Blood anniversary might be marked by signs of progress. It began, however, with a familiar tale of administrative f**k-up.

There’s the downsizing office move (the closure of the Home Office’s Whitgift Centre in Croydon, in this case); an incoming manager with a modernising bent (take your pick); the concerns of experienced staff dismissed as Luddite whingeing, and — crucially — the vague but firmly held belief that these days all useful information has probably been stored somewhere on a computer.

If only. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that computerised data storage hasn’t yet evolved into humanity’s shared superbrain, and may never do so. A new report into Whitehall’s supposed digital revolution finds all the senior civil servants complaining that there’s “barely any institutional memory in government” because the old paper records are dwindling, while new technology fails to compensate.

Data- storage policies don’t exist, or aren’t followed. Or are updated too regularly for the less tech-savvy to keep up. Meanwhile, we’ve lost the habit of filing.

It isn’t just the storage systems of institutions that are starting to let us down; it’s our once trusty brain boxes too. Studies show that human reliance on the internet to retrieve information is actually resulting in a generation of rewired brains with reduced memory capacity.

You no longer need to remember the route to a friend’s house because GPS will remember it for you. You don’t need to learn phone numbers (even your own) because they’re all stored in your smartphone and dialled with ease.

Scientists have a term for this process: “cognitive offloading”, which sounds as relaxing as a new spa treatment, and it is. Until that day when you accidentally mislay your charger and are rendered as helpless as newborn baby.

At this point we may have to graciously accept a few “I-told-you-sos” from the tech refuseniks in our lives. They were right all along, about how handwritten letters are nicer than emails, about how Facebook isn’t really our friend just because it always remembers our birthday, and probably about many more things besides.

No doubt they’ll be listing these in full, just as soon as that piece of paper on which they’d written it all down turns up … it must be around here, somewhere.

Tangibility may offer us some psychological comfort, but is it really any more a practical protection against the ravages of time, mishap and human stupidity? Vital evidence has always been mislaid, ancient libraries got burned to the ground at least once a century and valuable artefacts mostly turn up in damp, neglected basements. Archives are only ever as reliable as the nincompoops who maintain them, which, unfortunately, are us.

So perhaps all we can usefully do is try to make our peace with the inevitable loss of important documents. And remember to back up your computer regularly.

The magical madness of M.I.A

Morrissey’s latest interview sees him meandering off into racist irrelevance, with no hope of return, so let me suggest a replacement for those who like their idols odd and opinionated (just not that odd and opinionated).

A new documentary about M.I.A is coming out this summer and in an interview with fellow Londoner Riz Ahmed she’s talked about why her music could only have come out of the capital, the 13 ex-managers she’s left for dust and the vision she had of a long-dead Hindu guru (Riz: “Were you blazing that day?”). M.I.A is unmanageable in the best possible way.

Doctors seek a spiritual side

Some of the most emotionally detached people I’ve met have been GPs. Even the kindliest doctor is bound to be worn down by appointment after 10-minute appointment with today’s Google-diagnosed, pushy prescription-hunter.

So I was only mildly surprised to learn about a former GP friend seeking a more spiritually fulfilling vocation. He’s retraining as a management consultant. More shocking is a claim made in a recent study that GPs are the new clergy.

According to the doctor who led it: “Religious services attendance and affiliation have declined so [the surgery is] a forum in which to talk about deeper meaning in life and mortality ... GPs would recognise that many patients come to them with a multitude of distress that may be existential.”

If you’re looking for a stranger to pour your heart out to, there are so many better options! These include Alexa, your voice-activated virtual assistant, the neighbour’s cat and that person opposite you on the Tube with headphones in.