To emerge from under an analogue rock, sometimes all it takes is tidying up your home screen
If someone asked me to list the reasons that my relationship has endured several decades and all the twists and turns that we have encountered en route, I would say love, a shared sense of humour, ice cream and margaritas. But he and I both know that what really binds us is that, without him, I would struggle to turn on the toaster. I am endlessly thwarted by technology. Left alone in the house for a week, I revert to living like an Elizabethan, dining on leftovers (the food-ordering apps are on his phone). I find myself wishing that we had a harpsichord to play a few tunes on when the TV media muddle defies my requests. My partner, however, loves technology. They have a thing going on. At dinner parties, I soon realise that we have been invited not because of my glittering wit but because our hosts need him to rewire their Sonos.
This week he had the temerity to travel to Los Angeles just as I was setting up my lovely new iPhone, a manoeuvre that most weaning babies would be able to complete unaided. Now I am a little haphazard in writing down the passwords for anything, including the app on my phone where I store the few that I have logged. He, on the other hand, has each one, including mine, and is usually very happy to remind me of the magic code in question. But this week I discovered that there is a limit to how many times you can phone your partner during important briefings. “What is it now, darling?” he said I thought a little testily during one such interruption. “Is it urgent or can I call you back?” I assured him that it was indeed urgent. I might have rashly used the word “critical”. He stepped out of the meeting. “What’s up?”
“I cannot find the password for Duolingo,” I explained, “and I am worried about losing my 2,800-day streak.”
Now some of these things, including how cosy I felt going to bed, were clearly down to him to sort, despite the time difference. He has insisted on us trying this hi-tech mattress cover that can heat or cool each side of the bed to different temperatures. Because even here we diverge: he likes it hot; I am a chillier kind of person. Yes, he has put the app that controls the device on my phone but, even if he tells you differently, he never gave me the password. So when I got under the duvet and it was warm enough to smoke a kipper, I had to call him yet again. By now he was looking through the phone book for an LA divorce lawyer.
There are other things that I have rolled with. I seem to have done something to my notifications and this week, while in London every day, I have been sent special offers galore by UAE delivery and taxi company Careem (I happen to know that there’s a flash sale on bananas and Nada Greek yoghurt today). Perhaps intuiting the sparseness of my provisions, even my UK train app asked whether I needed a burger delivered.
Last night, determined to take back control, I thought that I might cull some of the long-neglected apps that have transferred to my shiny new phone. But even if they were unused, I felt oddly sad about erasing their little tiles. There was the cute Gojek app that had once helped me navigate Jakarta’s traffic-knotted streets on motorcycle taxis. It would be sad to obliterate that. And the SPTH app that we had needed to enter Spain during the coronavirus pandemic. That’s a piece of history. They all stayed.
Then there were the credit-card apps. One wanted me to verify my account again and, as proof of identity, asked me to upload one of three things: a deed poll, a marriage certificate or a divorce certificate. They might as well have asked for the Dead Sea Scrolls and the original Magna Carta. I phoned the number on the card and explained that I might be able to get the divorce certificate but it wouldn’t be available until my other half got home from LA. Meanwhile, my photos – all 78,580 of them – transferred with ease. Perhaps that would be a good place to do some tidying up. I could delete duplicates and duffs. I managed to get the number down to 78,572 in less than an hour.
At this point I am feeling pretty smug. There are still a few things for him to sort when he finally gets home. But I can finally stop searching for “harpsichord” on Ebay and look forward to rejoining the 21st century this weekend. Hurrah.
