We have now spent almost two weeks offline. In fact we are still, officially, offline. I am jumping on my family’s internet juice to write this blog post, but as soon as we return home it’ll be back to the solitary island again – for a few more days at least.

Here’s what happened while I was offline…

We moved in here: 

(I cried when we collected the keys to our very own home. I was expecting a fanfare of trumpets when we walked into the estate agents. Holding those keys in my hand was the final point in a long old journey of saving, working incredibly hard and being Sensible with a capital S.)

We unpacked: 

This is our family / dining room. It has a log burner, high ceilings, an original sash window and an adjoining window through to the kitchen. I think it might be my favourite room in the house.

We took delivery of a million logs: 

It took my three year old and I four hours to lug the huge pile of logs from the roadside through the house, stacking by the fire. We didn’t have time to move them to the log store in the garden as we had an oven being delivered that day. Never have logs proved so stressful. It was like Crystal Maze, but less exciting.

We chose a Christmas tree: 

Despite the pouring rain and gale force winds, the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine decided wellies and coats were for wimps. “I don’t need a coat, I’m from Rochdale, we don’t wear coats up there.”

We put the tree up, finally: 

Better late than never, and all that.

We explored our new village: 

And found the pub: 

This Christmas Eve pub lunch was followed by some carolling round the village Christmas tree. The NLM moaned all the way there (“It’s not my thing. I don’t do singing” etc etc) but threw himself into the songs with gusto. Obviously.

We opened presents: 

Our first Christmas in our very own home. I won’t be forgetting it any time soon. Turns out life offline isn’t so bad after all.

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A family wedding on one side of the country, an unexpected hospital admission (not me), followed by an eventual 8 hour journey and anxious waiting, has meant work – and the Internet has had to take a back seat this week.

Until Sunday night, this wasn’t going to be the case. It was only when I actually managed to get online and tried to figure out the logistics of doing the work I needed to do, without access to the Internet, that I realised I had to take a step back. Actually, another wise person made me realise it. I believe the actual words were: “Take the week off. There are more important things than the Internet.” (Told you they were wise words.)

It was one of those “epiphany moments”. In a flash, I understood that so much of my life depends on being online and being “connected” that when other things get in the way (someone I love falling ill, being in hospital, being in a place with no Internet, etc etc) I can’t cope. I’m ashamed that it took someone else to remind me about the important things, to help me gain a bit of perspective.

Thing is, not only do I hate letting people down – be they clients, friends, blog readers – but I hate feeling like I’m missing out.

I’ve become so used to taking a quick pic and bunging it on Instagram if I’m doing something mildly interesting (drinking a glass of wine / eating chocolate / being drawn on by my child) that the thought of not doing that was how I imagine a smoker may feel about giving up cigarettes.

I was reading a piece in The Guardian by Stuart Heritage recently about going without TV for two days a week. He discovered he suffers from “FOMO” – Fear Of Missing Out. And it’s something I realised I suffer from too. What’s Twitter talking about? What’s my Facebook feed look like today? Who’s eating what on Instagram? I have a serious social media FOMO problem.

It’s not just that though. There’s something more.

When I finally arrived at my parents’ place in Devon (more house stuff to sort – don’t ask) the first thing I wanted to do was take a picture of the view outside the window and put it on Facebook. It was like I couldn’t properly enjoy it without sharing it with the rest of the world. That’s when something my dad said in jest rang true: “There’s nothing like the loneliness of unshared experience”. It’s a quote, apparently. But oh – what a brilliant quote it is.

Perhaps if you blog, use Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google+, this is something that strikes a chord with you too. When was the last time you were doing something really lovely, or your kid said something funny, or you were eating a tasty pudding, or just looking at a beautiful view – and you didn’t share it online?

I can tell you when mine was: today. But that’s only because I couldn’t get online.

So tell me, are experiences as good if you can’t share them?

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