The joy of an unplugged life

‘Living my life in person’ is not a redundancy of expression. What it actually means is living without social media. Why have I chosen the unplugged life? That’s an easy one to answer, but first a little history: I think I was the last one to switch to writing on a word processor when the then back-of-the-book editor Liz issued an ultimatum. (I’ve had seven sainted male editors in 46 years, but only four ladies fixing the column: Jenny, Gina, Liz and Lucy, and never a cross word between any of the aforementioned 11 and poor little me.) Bron Waugh used to send in his copy in long hand, or so I was told, but I typed mine with two fingers until that, too, became ‘unreceivable’.

This happened sometime during the 1990s. My faithful secretary-friend Fiona Ward Jackson first showed me the ropes, then stood over me for days on end, and finally typed out the instructions: hit the letter ‘A’, then the letter ‘C’. After that go to Safari and hit the letter ‘V’, then hit send. It took about a month but I sort of got the hang of it and wrote four columns per week using that system. And that’s the last thing I ever learned regarding the plugged life.

I own a mobile telephone in order to be in touch when afloat, but never use it when a standard telephone is around. Recently the wife sent me some pictures on my mobile of my two angelic blonde grandchildren frolicking naked on the beach aged two and three, and when I went to a Bagel Apple store to learn how to open it, the man gave me a dirty look. I told him he had a filthy mind and who the two seraphs were, but he looked unconvinced.