Dear Philippa,

 

There was a time, when I was young and vigorous, with hair you could run your fingers through and teeth that could crack walnuts, a time when my children thought I knew everything. That I could climb any mountain, slay any dragon and fit a new washer to a tap even when tipsy. I have suspected for some time that this touching filial faith was on the wane, and this was confirmed with brutal finality after I acquired my new cell ‘phone, an up-to-the minute item free from Vodaphone, not much bigger than a Bourbon biscuit and as thin as a cream cracker. I charged it up, transferred the SLIM card from the old Nokia job, and away I went. Or so I thought. Myy address book had vanished, all fifteen telephone numbers.

 

My children happened to be staying at the point when I was recharging the old faithful Nokia with a view to switching the SLIM card back and carrying on as before. There was a certain amount of sniggering, and I was asked if I had transferred my address book from the SLIM card before I swapped it over to the new ‘phone. I didn’t understand the question, but I bluffed my way through saying that for security reasons I had not done this, and made authoritative references to the Data Protection Act. I thought I had got away with it, but the smirking and knowing looks told a different story. Anyway, they did it for me with what I thought was a showy display of competence. Soren was involved too and I detected his fingerprints all over an unlooked for change: arrival of text messages are heralded not be a discreet beep but a sinister voice announcing, A MESSAGE FROM THE DARK SIDE THERE IS! 

 

Edward very generously gave me a Sony book reader for my birthday, and told me that if I didn’t break the seal I could leg down to Waterstone’s and try it out, and other models, to make sure I got what I wanted. The model he gave me is a high-end item, the latest Sony offering. But it is rather small, smaller even that a regular paperback, more the size of a sixties Mills and Boon bodice ripper. I had a long consultation with the Waterstone expert on such products; he looked to be twelve but, judging from his incipient moustache must have been fourteen at least. He talked me through all the features of the various products, the different apps and so on, we got on very well. Anyway, he smiled a lot. Or did he smirk? The outcome of all this man-to-man techie talk was that I decided to ditch the Sony job for the Amazon Kibble, of which I had some experience – my clever economist friend has one, and let me fiddle about with it a bit over drinks one Sunday. I liked the heft of it, more like the hard cover books I am used to. 

 

So here I am, firmly in the 21st century and confident that I am recovering some of the lost ground in the eyes of my children. The next generation is more of a challenge: at the weekend my grandson, Archie, took me to one side and asked: “Grandad, why are you so old?” He’s three years old, for goodness sake.

 

Best wishes,

 

Howard