Scroll through the camera roll on my iPhone, and you’ll find plenty of pictures documenting the minutiae of my life. From my favourite make-up and the Victorian buildings I pass as I traverse town; to passages from books I enjoy; to plates of artfully-arranged food (yes, I am probably the last Londoner to still engage in this particularly annoying habit), it’s all there.
Look for evidence of any of these things last weekend, though, and you’ll find a void, a full 48 hours where not a single photo was taken. I also didn’t send a message, listen to a music, engage in social media, or buy anything with Apple Pay; there’s no trace of me in the digital world whatsoever. And no, that isn’t the case because I lost my phone, or because I was suddenly felled by some violent disease which required me to lie in bed with my eyes shut while I recovered. Instead, I was voluntarily undertaking a digital detox to see if it was possible to live phonelessly in London for a full weekend.
