Notes from a smart-phone free life

In this month’s column, our correspondent Daniel Benneworth-Gray finds himself suddenly smart-phone free. He expects being unshackled from the device to bring freedom, but finds he is unexpectedly bereft

It is dead. My iPhone is dead. A few weeks ago, perhaps sensing obsolesence in the face of newer, shinier, more-fangled models, it gave up. Mid-scroll, with no warning or drama, it simply faded to white. Then it faded to black for a little bit. Then it faded to nothing. If memory serves me right, it whimpered a pathetic little whimper. And just like that, I was the reluctant owner of a very expensive but mostly useless glass and aluminium paperweight. I was no longer mobile.

Following a significant amount of contemplative profanity, I came to the conclusion that this turn of events was actually a wonderful opportunity, a release from the insistent nag nag nag of the internet, a road back to a simpler way of life. Never again would I be distracted from the magnificent world around me! I was free! Kind of!