I worry myself sometimes that I am becoming dependant on being connected. I’m writing this in a converted water tower on a farm in West Sussex with a manége on one side (as opposed to a ménage – à trois or otherwise – which is something entirely different and an unfortunate misunderstanding of some, going along with saying ‘J’ai plein’ when you really want to say that your host’s meal was particularly delicious and filling and not that you have some news your parents are probably not expecting – especially if you are a boy) and on the other side a field with three large goats that the Lovely wife and I have decided to refer to as the Marx brothers (OK, get over the fact they are obviously female, it’s a joke). We decided that calling them after Donald’s nephews was less appropriate giving the looks they gave us this morning when we did not have any food for them.

What is the point of the ramble? Well, we are out in the country and watching a day of unexpected October sun go down quite beautifully, and all I can be grumpy about is that the cottage has no wifi. I mean, really, do I need to be that connected? I have a phone signal after all (which is the only way this is going to be posted before Friday) and I’m hardly cut off. But no, I want full on, browse worthy internet.

When did that happen? I’m guessing this is a bit like a dive into alcoholism but with less damage to the liver, an insidious creeping of dependency that thinks that looking at Facebook on the generic phone device is not enough; you need it widescreen and faster. Full access all areas to those websites needed. Now, quicker and all the time, or I am just not satisfied.

I hang my head in shame and as with the alcohol promise to give it up for a while for the good of my (in this case mental) health. But will I follow through on the promise? Well, maybe. And a nice place in the country is by far the best place to do it, as the British countryside is one of the best places to cleanse myself from the stress my South East England busyness inevitable exerts on me. One of the reasons I love staying in Landmark Trust properties, for example, which include bits of castles, follies and generally unloved but quite wonderful historic and quirky buildings is that they do not have radios, TVs or DVD players, let alone an internet connection. They are places to go and rest, relax, go for walks and come back and cook some honest local produce. I have yet to stay in one and not find it a memorable (and from a writing point of view) inspiring experience.

The place I am writing this in is not a Landmark trust property, but is close. I need to relax and enjoy it for what it is and realise the one of the biggest pluses is that it does not have on tap internet, as rather than tapping this out and then trying to get it uploaded via a dial up connection (!) I would probably be doing work email, and trying to hide it from the Lovely Wife (work porn?).

Lucky escape, eh?