The Old Ghost Road

Dear old Facebook. Everybody’s friend, with only the shortest list of shortcomings such as paying way too little tax and doing nothing to stop the spread of outright lies and causing political harm and being the vehicle for genocide in Myanmar and possibly presenting an existential threat to journalism and democracy.

It’s almost as though something that was designed to stalk young women in American universities is intrinsically flawed.

It must have something to redeem it surely? Well yes, it may be your friend when you come adrift in the wilderness.

A friend skiing on Whakapapa was having no luck at all getting hold of the ski patrol on the phone to let them know someone was hurt. So she sent a Facebook message and no worries, down they came.

Perhaps you saw the recent news story of the people who got themselves lost in the bush and posted a status announcement to that effect. It is emblematic of our times that you can be lost without hope and also have five hundred likes.

For the last five mornings I have woken up to no cell reception and no Facebook, just the sound of tui and bellbird and weka and there’s no lovelier sound in the world.

What are they saying, all those beautiful birds? ‘‘Good morning neighbour’’ and ‘‘what a morning to be alive’’ and ‘‘nau mai haere mai’’? Maybe.

But possibly also: ‘‘you want a go mate? You want a go? Come over to this branch and say it. You want your clock cleaned?’’ Maybe that’s just how all of us animals behave when we have a social network.

For the past five mornings we have been