Gstaad
‘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’.

Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in