SO GRATEFUL TO THE ‘TEENY TINY’ VIRTUAL PEOPLE

L andast week I mentioned a short stay with our wonderful NHS. I’m feeling remarkably well pleased to say I have no need for a return visit. There have, however, been some repercussions I feel we need to discuss.

We all know by now my concentration isn’t great, that much should be obvious from my writing skills. You are also all polite enough not to comment on my constant need to nap and proclivity for dozing off. Very kind, thank you.

However, even I acknowledge my ability to focus has wandered off never to be seen again and although I still have a huge, HUGE love of reading, I find that sometimes my capabilities do not match my desire.

With this in mind, I turned to the teeny tiny people who live in my phone for help. Do you have them too? I hope so! Mine are an out-and-out abundance of information, advice, reassurance and even occasional witty repartee. Sarcasm, insults and home truths also feature, as do recommendations and occasionally humorous banter. Whether you love or loathe social media, you really cannae whack it for getting you an answer. Instantly.

Weather forecast? Ask your Facebook pals. In under five minutes you’ll have someone soaked through bringing in the shopping, another enjoying a glorious walk through snowdrifts and some smug git you knew 20 years ago at university living it up Down Under.

Need an inspirational recipe away from your tried and tested favourite eight meals? Pop yourself on to Instagram and watch Jamie Oliver boshing little-known cupboard “staples” into a pan for you to re-enact for your perplexed offspring.

Just while I’m here, some advice I need to give mostly to myself regards ranting on social media. Step 1: Don’t. Everyone is depressed, broke and fat, not just me. Lesson over.

So why did I go cap in hand to my convenient virtual experts? Unable to indulge in a novel during treatment and convalescence I turned to the modern-day delight, the box set.

I wrote a list of ones I’ve indulged in since my surgery in early 2019 to allow the teeny tinys to recommend similar shows. Pure shame set in with the horrific realisation my list totalled more than 40. I can’t even begin to add up the hours but I will at least allow myself to admit these programmes and associated characters have brought me many things.

While sleeping off surgery and anaesthetic, Grace and Frankie provided me with companionship, friendship almost. No pressure to join in or remember what they’d said. They allowed me to rewind dozed-through episodes without fear of repercussion or raised eyebrows.

Once a little more alert, the Marvellous Miss Maisel swept me round 1950s New York in an array of stunning outfits and hilarious one liners. Outlander left me feeling all patriotic and proud of my small nation, while Tin Star wowed me and made me long to visit Canada. House, Greys and the Good Doctor left me convinced if a heavily pregnant woman appears at my door I’ll single-handily deliver her triplets with ease, even the breech one, simultaneously saving her overwhelmed husband from cardiac arrest.

The Big Bang Theory made me believe I can teach my children science. I can’t. Anything with “star” at the beginning of its name belongs to the mister and I refuse to indulge. He can become better acquainted with his weirdy space people when I’m asleep. We’re too far into this relationship for me to pretend to like his poor TV choices.

Am I embarrassed by how few books I’ve read over the past few years? Absolutely. The book shelves in the house positively heave with neglected adventures that I sneak longing glances at. I freely admit I’m too tired to fully commit to the two hours a film demands of me.

For now, it’s a box-set life for me, and with the help of the teeny tiny virtual ones I have a whole new stack of friends I just haven’t met yet.

Feet up, watching Netflix is now my favourite pastime.