Logging - Nick Spalding Page 0,17
can find people who will actively defend Hitler, the Ebola virus and Hanson – believe it or not.
Needless to say, digital detoxing is regarded as being the best thing ever, or the biggest waste of time on the planet, depending on who you ask.
In disgust, I throw the iPad down and cross my arms over my chest in a grump of the highest order. None of that helped one bit. I’m back to having to make a decision on my own.
. . .
I’m going to have to bloody do it, aren’t I?
I’m going to have to give this stupid digital-detox thing a go.
As I sit here, I can hear my bowels rumbling in a manner that means I’m going to have to remain close to a toilet for the entire day, and the Anadin Extra really aren’t strong enough to counter-attack that stupid stabbing pain I’m getting in my head, thanks to all the jaw-clenching.
Sixty days.
It can’t be that bad, can it?
I’m not being asked to give everything up forever. Just for a couple of months.
Two months really isn’t all that long a period of time. I should be able to cope, surely?
. . .
Bollocks.
Let’s give it a go.
It takes me about twenty minutes to find my old landline phone, which is in a box at the top of the cupboard in the spare bedroom. I haven’t used the thing in yonks, but it still works – the dial tone still sounds loud and strong as I put my ear to the receiver, having plugged the phone back into the phone socket on the kitchen wall for the first time in about six years.
The dial tone sounds strange and alien to me, but there’s also something ever so slightly comforting about it, for some reason. I think it probably has something to do with the nostalgia of it all. The memories of years gone by, when things seemed so much simpler.
I remember the time before the Internet, and this dial tone feels strangely symbolic of it.
Of course, I’m going to have to update my work website and all of my contacts with the landline number, because I haven’t given it out publicly for a very long time – but the evil pamphlet says I’m still allowed to use emails purely for work purposes, so it shouldn’t be all that difficult.
Having reconnected the ancient device, I then find a big cardboard box, into which I place my iPhone, iPad, PlayStation, Alexa and Kindle.
I can’t fit my TV in there, as it’s got a 55-inch screen, but I can unplug the Ethernet cable, wipe all of the apps and turn off the Wi-Fi, so it can’t go online any more.
The iMac has to stay out for obvious reasons – I can scarcely run a graphic design business without my computer – but that is safely tucked away in one corner of the spare bedroom, and I can shut the door on it when I need to.
I sellotape the cardboard box up, pop it on top of the cupboard where I found the old phone, and take a few deep breaths.
Well, there we go, then.
Like a cigarette smoker who has just thrown his last packet away, I have divested myself of my addictions as much as I possibly can. Now all that remains is to go online for one final time and let everyone know that I’m doing a two-month-long digital detox.
It doesn’t take me that much time to compose a suitable post, which I can copy and paste across all of my social media accounts and public forums. The only one that gives me any difficulty is Instagram, because I have to accompany the message with a suitable picture. What kind of picture can you use to denote the fact that you’re taking a break from all of this wonderful online jiggery-pokery in order to improve your health?
I elect for an image of a small puppy being told off for peeing on the carpet. I can’t tell you why, but it feels appropriate.
The response I get from my small accumulation of online followers is largely to be expected. Most are quite supportive, some are confused, a few are highly amused, and a minority are actually angry at me for having the temerity to blame the online world for any of my problems.
I’m willing to bet they are the kinds of people who could probably do with a detox themselves.
Good old Jerry Pimbleton sounds quite disappointed that he won’t be able to cross