How, with Alan Sugar's help, I just about survived four days of enforced digital detox

Tree surgeons fixing the old oak tree neighbouring my flat after a ravaging by Storm Éowyn brought down the cables linking me to the virtual world on a Friday afternoon. So it was hello digital detox as I joined the ranks of those switching off and tuning out, becoming inadvertently on trend.

A whole raft of other trendy activities ensued as a result of my offline statues – breathing techniques, manifesting, mindfulness, forest bathing and a lot of talking about my emotions, a bit like when the possession of flares, corduroy or cowboy boots suddenly propels you to the forefront of fashion for a fleeting few weeks.

Nice man in Bulgaria

Day One was spent on the phone endlessly trying to get reconnected, having my credentials and passwords checked repeatedly, only to be told by a nice man in Bulgaria that my voice sounded like a robot. This was a first. If I were a robot, I’d have been up the post like the dogbots in Black Mirror and fixed the wifi in no time.

I was reassured that the issue was currently being actioned and engineers were on it right now. The helpdesk operative was hundreds of miles away. I was in Edinburgh. I could see the post with the wires, and no, they weren’t. Manifesting didn’t help.

I was stuck in the zone where the virtual and real worlds collide. Online may function 24/7 but real life has engineers that only function on ‘working days’, which the weekend isn’t. That was when the breathing techniques came in.

Day Two saw me avoiding negative emotions by going for a walk in the country with my pals. Seventeen miles later, my rage had indeed abated and I was feeling lit by the forest bathing (aka walking in a forest).

Live-and-shouty gameshows

I was also able to indulge in talk therapy with my friends (although sympathy was lacking because who cares about other people’s IT issues and they preferred to focus on the ‘hotness’ of tree surgeons, although I can’t condone such objectifying behaviour). So I sat with my feelings, a Thermos and a view of roe deer running down a field, and let them go, ready for an evening revisiting the Seventies with terrestrial TV.

It was box-set-binge-free, wall-to-wall, live-and-shouty TV gameshows all the way, brought up to date by going on well beyond the 10.30pm shutdown I remember from childhood – although I did miss the spectacle of my dad bolting out of his chair to switch off the telly before the opening bars of the national anthem rounded off a night’s viewing. Never again will I complain about my satellite subscription.

Day Three brought pressing work deadlines so I piggy-backed on my son’s wifi and did a shift at his flat, while Day Four, being a Monday, with still no wifi at home, saw me taking Alan Sugar’s advice and getting my bum back into the office. Digital detox? Not if you ever want to get anything done.