LAST week the Sky TV box broke.
This was almost the end of the world for the residents of Casa Smith, who suddenly had to do radical things like make conversation and ponder the fact they have no hobbies.
For the first few hours (of a long four days) Smithy and I hardly knew what to do with ourselves, other than intermittently and ever more desperately pressing the power button in the hope the box would suddenly spring back into life.
It didn’t and with heavy hearts we turned our attention to filling the TV-shaped void in our lives.
On the evening of day one we cracked out some board games before quickly remembering why we don’t play board games.
It’s not an exaggeration to say divorce was almost on the cards after a particularly heated round of Monopoly.
On day two we decided to go for a Romantic Twilight Walk, but this turned decidedly unromantic after we got bitten by midges, covered in mud and the pram got stuck in a ditch (thankfully sans baby).
On day three Smithy announced he was off to conquer a village and disappeared into another room (I can only assume this is a virtual village and there isn’t now an entire hamlet somewhere being forced to watch endless Formula One and drink real ale).
On day three we tried to emulate our technology-free forefathers by gathering around the piano for a sing song.
Except we don’t have a piano and gathering round my husband’s old primary school recorder didn’t have quite the same effect.
By day four I was ready to kiss (or even marry) the lovely man from Sky when he finally came to fix the problem.
But I’m glad to say we are now back to our status quo.
Now I must go as I promised my husband I’d spend the evening ignoring him while we attempt to catch up on all the Neighbours we missed.
(Did somebody say ‘first world problems’?)
Article first published in the Westmorland Gazette on June 18, 2015