I knew my iPhone was ruining my brain so I took a drastic step - and got back TWO HOURS every day
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I'm an addict. A hopeless, twitching, finger-fumbling slave to my iPhone – and it's an addiction for which there is no 12-step programme. My smartphone is the worst thing that has ever happened to my concentration, social skills and creativity, but without it in my hand I feel like an amputee.
At first – like every addiction, I guess – it seemed harmless. All that freedom and 24/7 entertainment! Gone were the dark, Neanderthal days of slow dial-up, waiting for hell to freeze over as the modem tried to connect. With my iPhone, never again would I be lost abroad. Never again would I need to consult an A-Z in London. I could work anywhere, keep in touch with my children, shop and discover who won Strictly – all at the touch of a button.
Best of all, I was never alone as long as I had my phone. Until, suddenly, I couldn't bear to be alone without it. People talk about the perils of social media for the young and vulnerable, with the Government considering banning it for under-16s – but it's also a minefield for us older and supposedly wiser folk.
My phone has become so much a part of daily life that I recently saw my two-year-old grandson Rory tapping his finger as if scrolling on a large yellow Duplo block, while holding a conversation of gibber and wearing my spare glasses. From giving up smoking – several times – in my 20s, I knew cold turkey was the only way to go. So, two weeks ago, I decided to swap to a so-called 'dumb phone', one that would allow me to make and receive calls, but keep me off Instagram and Facebook.