I'm writing this in my living room: I have the TV on, my laptop in front of me and my smartphone on the armrest. Please don't take one away from me. I need them. All of them - at once.
A month ago I left it all behind.
On the last Sunday of August I set off from the west coast of Cumbria, at St Bees, with the intention of spending 12 days walking to the North Sea. I left the bay with around 65lbs worth of camping equipment, including my mobile phone charger, despite not having any idea of how I was going to refuel my surplus brainbox. I took a few photos - because that's the generation I'm in - and switched it off. Not on standby like you do when you go to the cinema so you can have a crafty look when you feel it vibrate. Completely off. I held the power button for what felt like the longest five seconds of my life, and watched it power down like a dramatic death in a war film.
Andy (my twin brother) and I were walking for around 12 hours a day - often in single file - so I was left with my own thoughts. It was intimidating and frustrating; I was walking with two spare hands, which were used to being wrapped around my iPhone, tapping furiously on Twitter, WhatsApp, Facebook, text, Instagram, Snapchat, Safari or YouTube.
What was I going to think about for 12 days? I'd get bored... of myself.
As we lost sight of the sea and headed east, I started to wonder if I'd end up having awkward conversations with my mind. What if I did? - I wouldn't be able to escape! The best way out situations like that is a phone, which I had on me, but couldn't bloody use!
The first evening we ended up wild camping in a forest near Ennerdale Water in the Lake District. With it being late August, the evening was bright, and, bar cooking and rolling out a few sleeping bags, Andy and I had to chat... without our phones interrupting. There were no pictures to show one another; music to play out loud; videos to watch online; or friends to stalk on Facebook.
To cut a long story short (although we did make it to the east coast), I spent 12 long days with only my thoughts and Andy. It was a revelation. Fifteen years after getting my first mobile phone - with it's extendible aerial and actual buttons - I'd finally caught up with myself.
On the train back to Birmingham I turned it on to a myriad of notifications from all the apps under the sun. Not only did I need to trawl through the monotonous crap I'd been sent, the actually apps also needed updating - meaning more notifications to sort out. It felt like, after spending almost two weeks climbing through three national parks, the biggest hurdle - the tallest mountain - was in front of me.
Two hours later I'd battled through it - despite knowing that in a few days I'd be going back to work with more emails to read. And that's exactly what happened: I returned home and to my old life.
It's now been 15 days since I arrived in Birmingham and I'm back in the rhythm of needing to be stimulated by at least two pieces of technology at once. For example, If I'm watching TV, I'm trawling through Twitter. And - it's hard to admit - but when I go to the toilet for a Tom Tit, I can't keep my phone in my pocket. In fact, around 75 percent of adults do the same thing.
How much has this contributed to childhood depression almost doubling in a few decades?
I think technology and social media are wrecking kids' innocence and youth. Not only are these youngsters fighting the turbulence of their adolescent years, they're also managing their avatars, which are undergoing just as much scrutiny on Facebook, Twitter and all the other new sites that clog their minds and detach them from the real life happening around them.
Everyday life has been hijacked by technology, from people missing a live gig because they've spent their whole time in the arena filming it for their online friends, to taking selfies before funerals. Search it right now on Instagram: #funeralselfie.
Don't forget to hashtag you techno-Neanderthal.
In many ways the internet and social media have improved our lives in ways that we'll never comprehend. But, on the contrary, we've plaguing our days with screens and digital clutter, leaving a generation in search of eternal stimulation.
I'm pleased I had some respite in the English fells and found peace for a few weeks of my life.
Go ahead and try it: pick up your virtual life and put it in Trash or the Recycle Bin for a few days.
