YOU join us as today's scheduled column is interrupted. There I was, typing up a storm at my desk, when suddenly the screen in front of me faded to black. All the words vanished. I sat momentarily bewildered. It took a few seconds for me to realise there had been a power cut.

So, instead of battering away at the keyboard, I am writing this in pidgin longhand into a trusty notebook. Old-school style. It has only been a matter of minutes, but already the early grumblings of cramp are beginning to set in as I clutch a well-chewed Biro and scribble away.

What shenanigans. The outage means I can't use my computer, the WiFi is down, my mobile phone battery is draining fast, and the kettle won't boil. I feel like I am adrift and floundering. Which is ridiculous as it has only been 10 minutes.

It's not like I am even alone with my thoughts. The house alarm keeps emitting a high-pitched beep, as does the landline handset. It sounds like they are having an angry conversation (or boldly plotting a robot uprising).

I had actually forgotten I owned a landline. I can't remember the last time I used it. Following the intermittent beeps, I finally find it round the back of the telly. The phone and base unit are thick with dust. My eyes start itching and I let out a huge sneeze.

It is only 10.47am but I am fretting about what I will do for lunch. I had planned to heat up last night's leftovers in the microwave. Opening the fridge to look for a snack, I am immediately startled by the yawning gloom inside. Oh, yeah. No electricity. Duh.

Barely 20 minutes have passed. I am struck by the bleak epiphany that should the apocalypse arrive imminently – perhaps this is it? – then I would be ill-equipped. How did I become so mollycoddled? I decide to look up survival courses on the internet. Damn. I forgot. No WiFi.

I go into the garden, away from the incessant chorus of vexed beeps from useless electronic contraptions, to call my editor and inform him of my plight.

He can barely hear me over the cacophony of starlings and their hungry fledglings feeding across the nearby lawn. It is like Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs meets Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Chaos.

I retreat back indoors. I pick up my notebook and pen to resume writing. My hand aches. I pause and it clicks that I haven't heard the beeping in a while.

The power is back on. I hadn't even noticed. In the end, it was off for less than an hour, but the whole debacle has imparted a harsh truth: I am over reliant on modern technology.

Embarrassingly so. How has it come to this? I intend to do a digital detox. It won't be pretty. But needs must.

The next time this happens I will be primed. Or at least have a camping stove, a packet of Cup-a-Soup and a portable power bank to hand. Life goals: apocalypse ready. See you on the flipside.

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald​