Now, it was oddly liberating not to have the internet in one's flat. To rely on newspapers, radio and books, I don't bother with TV, feels like post-war Britain. Either that, or like 2010 during a power cut.
I found myself reading so much more than I normally would, I read every single word in the Guardian. I even completed the crossword on a daily basis (that's what reading does for you). Su Doku became a doddle as well.
My friends, family and colleagues found it baffling how I could cope without being online, but I got used to it pretty quickly. A lot quicker than the noise of the generator outside of my bedroom window, as it turns out.
I would come home from work, leave GMail, Twitter (I use it for work purposes, honest) and Spotify at the office and totally switch off. It was wondrous.
So, imagine my shock when my flatmate should text with the code for our new wireless router.
My initial surprise receded and I starred my new globally-connected front door down. I daren't enter.
I did. And here I am. Blogging. It took 187 minutes from me walking into my bedroom to posting this.
The books, newspapers and radio are in a heap in the corner of my room. I can no longer hear the generator over the glorious sound of Spotify and my tip-tapping on Twitter.
Just like that. My analogue habits are cast aside by a digital revolution. The past few hours have been like the last 20 years in fast-forward.
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