After the Cambridge Analytica scandal, I can't wait to sign up for a Facebook account

Maybe I am just an old fuddy-duddy but I really cannot find it in myself to get worked up about the Facebook “scandal”. As far as I’m concerned the whole overheated fuss reminds me of one of my favourite lines from the Police Squad movies. Lieutenant Frank Drebin is asked by the glamorous girl, “Tell me, Mr Drebin, do you gamble?”

“Every time I eat out.”

That pretty much sums up the way we should view the internet, and not just Facebook: every time we use it we take a gamble – that the information we pass on about ourselves will be used or misused, whether we give any permissions or not. Whenever you look for an insurance quote, go shopping, browse eBay, switch broadband or energy supplier, apply for a credit card, book a flight or sign up for a dating app, let alone join Facebook, you release varying amounts of personal data. It is the way of the modern world, your everyday Faustian pact.

In return for vouchsafing that valuable intelligence about yourself to strangers you get to meet the love of your life, go for a much-needed bargain break in Bologna or, at least, get some cheap reliable broadband from that bloke with the Yorkshire accent.

To assume otherwise is to be wilfully naïve. To be outraged when that someone knows that you have a pet Labrador or voted Trump or don’t believe in God is just ridiculous. To allow the media circus to upset you is just plain silly. I would love to know what, precisely, personal harm or hurt has been caused to anyone by any of this.

I’ve never been that bothered about people knowing how I voted. In fact I am happy to tell you lot right now. You can let Cambridge Analytica know, if you want. It’s Liberal Democrat. I’m a Roman Catholic, too. I run an old Skoda. I often shop at Tesco. I like sushi (as Tesco must know already). I am allergic to cats. There you go, you can have that lot for nothing. Tell the Russians for all I care.

Of course it can go wrong. For a while, every time I logged on to Amazon they ask me if I’d like to buy a boxed set of Last of the Summer Wine and the latest novel by Maeve Binchy. This was a serious misunderstanding of my cultural tastes on their part, just because I once bought some similar items for my mum. I am more amused by their assumptions about me than upset about the not-very-accurate incursion into my private affairs.

I often answer “fun” surveys that offer me the opportunity to win a £50 Marks and Spencer gift card, or whatever, even though I know the chances are vanishingly tiny. Thus, there are countless people out there who know my age, whether I have a mortgage, household income, when my car insurance is due to renew, when my home insurance is due to renew, when my sour attitude to life in general is due to renew. All that stuff. The government knows my income, how unhealthy I am, how good a driver I am, who I work for, and when my passport expires. Plus my criminal convictions (if any). I have been digitally scoured and seared many times, but it didn’t hurt.

At this point, I should declare an interest. Or non-interest. I’m not on Facebook. That’s not, though, because of the Cambridge Analytica data scandal. It’s just that I don’t really feel the need. Too old, probably.

Now, though, because of all this publicity and the magnificent defence offered by Facebook boss Mark Zuckerberg, I’m seriously looking forward to joining up to what I believe is called a “social media platform”, or massive boon to humankind, and filling in any fun quizzes that may come my way. If people start shooting ads at me for the Conservatives or to buy a new Lamborghini or something equally unrealistic I’ll happily ignore them. There are evils in the world, and Facebook isn’t one of them. Really, what’s the problem?