I outsourced my brain to my Blackberry and when it dies, I die

I WOULDN’T describe it as a panic attack, but it was one, really.

I got out of the car on Christmas Eve, glanced at the mobile phone and saw that little red icon that comes up when the device is fresh out of power. Or even stale out of power. I was in no condition to judge. In the face of any challenge, I automatically go to the worst-case scenario.

He won’t know where I am, was my first thought. And he always needs to know where I am. It’s not that the man in my life is controlling, although, to be perfectly honest, he is. He’s a ‘sit down there’ man. No, not there. There. Nearer the stove. Get you warmer quicker. (Even if you’re running a fever, you sit down where he tells you, allowing him to move on to instructing you to read that newspaper, drink up that hot cup of tea and give him your jacket to get the damp out of it.)