The Rantagon has been deprived of broadband for almost two days. It doesn’t like the experience.
All web and email activity is being carried out at mobile phone data connection speed.
That’s tedious for the business but apocalyptic for MiniQuad III, aged 13, which can’t do FaceTime, watch YouTube, lurk in the iTunes Store or connect to Xbox Live and thus feels that its teenage world is imploding to the size of a paperback book.
However hard I try to remain cool, I keep checking to see whether the broadband light on the router has changed from slow flashing to the steady green glow that says that normal 8MB service has been resumed.
Of course it’s stupid to feel somehow incapacitated just because I can’t pull up information on my PC screen in the blink of an eye.
I should be revelling in the enforced freedom to focus entirely on what I should be doing, which is writing for a living.
Instead, I waste time pining for something I rarely actually need and, most of the time, do not use constructively.
Such is life at the zenith of high tech civilisation. I’ll miss it when it’s gone.