It’s funny that in the big spy week we’ve confirmed that some people not only don’t mind being snooped into their lives, but are happy to become a kind of domestic Big Brother. Literal. It’s about installing an array of cameras in private homes to allow thousands of strangers, anywhere in the world, to practice the art -or vice- of voyeurism. Admittedly, the mystery of not knowing what’s going to happen in a second, that anthropological fascination with looking at fellow tribesmen, can be addictive. But what Hithcock sublimated in ‘Rear Window’ and Mercedes Milá cataloged as a sociological experiment, now has a replica in the form of Pegasus hanging around the house. Paying, of course, as in the joke; the voyeur scratches his pocket and the occasional narcissist gets paid based on visits. The platform is called SpiedLife and it already has more than ten million monthly users, who can enjoy themselves -they’ll know why- with a family discussion, the image of someone taking a nap on the sofa or the portrait of a kitchen in full swing. Usually, They are home stamps of the bunch. The only limitations -for now- are marked by gender and the bathroom door. Fucking or shitting in public are still considered bad practices. By the way, this invention of “Spy Life & rdquor; was born in Italy, a country with a long television tradition based on the sentimental porn and the impudent display of lives and miseries on any set from three to four. A model of universal gossip that moved to Spain thirty years ago and that I have always thought contaminated us. That part of what we are as a society -starting with politics-, the inveterate love of anger, insult and coarseness, has roots in that disastrous importation of customs. You can’t put gates on the field, I know that. But it is a pity that the fences and walls that stop people, most of them decent, cannot be used as a barrier against slop.