We spent the last weekend holed up with lovely friends in the remotest of remote cottages in wet, west Wales. This was it:
Sure enough it was purdy, we were close to some of the UK’s best beaches, the children roamed free and we toasted marshmallows on a log fire. In short,it was idyllic.
But there was a small, minor, insignificant issue: I.HAD.NO.PHONE.SIGNAL.
Now, this shouldn’t have been a problem. Despite the dark and moody mile long track to approach and heavily wooded surrounding area looking like the set of a 70s horror movie, we were quite safe. Yes the BT line was out of order but that was nothing to worry unduly about and once I’d calmed by nerves that the bogeyman wasn’t gonna come knocking I felt calm, liberated, mentally freed. I cooked and cleaned with abandon, I swept floors, I made bread, I did all those things that are normally drudgery and I enjoyed doing them.
But as the 48 hours clicked by I felt an increasing panic, I started looking for excuses as to why I needed a phone signal…. what if the OH had a terrible accident whilst out on his mountain bike with his friend? As it was, it was the friend who had the accident and they coped perfectly well thankyou. I was reassured that other people had a phone signal…why you and not meeeee?…..and, staring longingly at my poor, impotent iphone, I was forced to assimilate to life without t’internet, twitter and texting.
The time whisked by, filled with chat and red wine and children playing and it was lovely, a break from the norm and a complete de-stress. But, oh my fingers were fidgety, and as we left the o2 signal void I was so tempted to tweet whilst sitting in traffic on the journey home that I had to move my phone out of reach.
So now I’m back I’m appraising, should I recognise that I have a problem and seek professional help? Or do I embrace the fact that this is the modern world, that our brains are evolving and that, au contraire I don’t have a problem at all… I’m just a modern kinda chick?