On Saturday If it ain’t on Google, then it can’t be real

HIATUS is a good word. Not an everyday word, maybe, but it does sum up this strange period between Christmas and New Year.

When you’re young, there is perhaps no hiatus – you just party right on through. Life before 30, for me, meant the annual week-long gap between the two midwinter festivities was filled with nocturnal gettogethers, lengthy hangovers and even longer country walks designed to blow cobwebs out of the system.

Today such a regime would kill me. I don’t know about you, but I need plenty of rest between social gatherings. Nowadays the midwinter hiatus is punctuated by quiet evenings at home. There’s a large TV for company, and the less taxing and more brainless the entertainment, the better.

One day this week I did go to a pub at lunch-time, which is something I rarely do, but we were catching up with old friends. I never drink alcohol in the daytime, but someone said: “It is Christmas, after all…”

I wish I hadn’t. Two pints of fairly weak real ale had me dozing off for the rest of the afternoon. As I fell in and out of sleep I found myself wondering what this strange period is for? What are we meant to do between Christmas and New Year? Wouldn’t it be better if they could somehow bring the latter a few days closer to the former?

Some people feel they’ve had enough of festive mode and now they want to get on with the year that’s about to arrive. On the other hand, some of us want to remain as horizontal as we can each day without being called upon to do anything – anything at all – let alone talk to, or generally socialise, with any other member of the human race.

Often, reality is a lacklustre mix of the two. We find ourselves turning on the computer in some lazy attempt to take a look at work-related stuff – at the same time, we halfheartedly agree to go for a country walk with city friends who are down for the holidays, or haul ourselves along to some last-minute soirée. And because we lack the energy to do any of it with our old enthusiasm, we end up feeling somehow discombobulated and out of sorts.

I guess you should either do festive stuff to the absolute full and attempt to enjoy every minute, or, conversely, you should lock the door and rug-up like an old recluse.

Otherwise there are all manner of social dangers to be negotiated... If you are tired but still out there socialising, for example, you might find yourself feeling irritated. One source of irritation this year has been the increasing number of folk my age who consult their smartphones at the drop of a hat. There you are at a drinks do or dinner party, and you suddenly realise you’re the only person not looking at a screen.

It used be only young people who were addicted to their phones – now oldies seem to have got in on the act. I grit my teeth and mutter out loud that we are supposed to be socialising with one another – bathing in the joyful light of human-to-human company.

If they actually hear my grumble, they look up for a moment with an expression that says: “Poor old Hespie! We’ve known for years that he’s an unreconstructed male dinosaur – an old countryman who can’t keep up with the times.”

The worst of the screen warriors is the person who begins a conversation in the old-fashioned way, then hoicks out their phone to Google the subject in question. They then proceed to read from their screen in a most learned manner, lecturing you on what’s right and what’s wrong with your point of view.

A while ago, a Californian friend did that after I had taken him to see some Exmoor ponies. We got back to my house where he was able to connect to wifi and, as I cooked dinner, he regaled me with information all about the said ponies.

His monologue was more or less identical to what I’d told him in the car – in fact, it was so identical I asked to look at his phone, only to find that his lecture to me was being taken direct from an article I had written several years before!

When I pointed out that he was regurgitating on my own material, it didn’t faze him a bit. He just carried on. It’s as if these people are saying: “It’s just not real if it isn’t on Google!”

The other universally annoying thing people of a certain age do during the midwinter hiatus is talk about ailments and illnesses they’ve suffered during the year.

I actually heard a bloke this week say the words: “My constipation got so bad I had to ring 999 while I was stuck on the loo.”

Good job he had his phone with him, I observed in a withering sort of voice.

And absolutely wonderful I had mine with me, as he continued to relate his awful tale! Because I got it to ring, then pretended I had to dash off to some family emergency.

Good things, these smartphones... As long as you remember to keep them in your pocket 99% of the time!

Happy New Year to you!

And I say that in-person, rather than digitally.

It used be only young people addicted to their phones – now oldies have got in on the act