Away for 48 hours. Should I take the computer with? There must be blogging, betting, tweeting, looking at all those nice pictures of horses on the Facebook. 48 hours without a computer means no emails, no nostalgic photographs of my old dogs, no gazing on the loveliness of Red the Mare. I can’t know what my friends are doing every minute of every day. I shall be unmoored, cut off from the world. I almost panic at the thought.
Then I think: bollocks to that. There is real life. I’m not humping round a slab of machinery simply so I can look at nice horse pictures. You, bold Dear Readers, shall bravely survive without me. If I miss an email, I miss an email.
I’m going old school. I am literally going to get on a train with a paperback book and a furled umbrella (the kind of black, gentleman’s article that you most often see in Pall Mall or Whitehall). I am going to give my poor brain a rest from the rushing ether of the internet. It’s practically a sociological experiment.