Meditations on a powercut

Ha. Bang go my delusions of learning to live the slow life in Fife.

We've had a powercut since 3pm today.  It's now 6pm and I was totally unprepared for this.  Do we even own a torch?

By the time I realised that this blip was going to last into the hours of darkness, I was forced to practically violate the tealights in their holders to see if they had enough wax to light.  More fumbling, and I finally found some matches. I'm now sitting in front of my feeble attempt at a log fire, which I've just learned is our only source of non-electrical heat.  I've relocated here from my home office in search of warmth, and also the light to write this blog entry (on a notebook - like a real paper and spiral-binding one, not a flashy gadget).

Several things inspired me to dedicate this entry to powercuts.  The sheer beauty of our little Scottish village in almost total darkness was definitely one factor.  I tried to take some long exposure shots, like the one at the top of this entry.

It's not exactly a masterpiece, but hopefully it will capture some of the magic of looking out of the window to see tiny candles in windows all down the street, and car headlights cutting a perceptible swathe in the darkness.  It felt like Christmas, somehow.  I nearly started singing 'O Little Town of Bethlehem', but that would have broken the sense of pure peace that seemed to have settled all around, like snow.

My strongest instinct on pondering all this was to find my iPod and plug myself into some loud music.  This disappointed me, especially when that's precisely what I did.  I was given the opportunity to completely tune out from a century's worth of development and instead of relishing that I found a loophole.  My main computer is a desktop, so the powercut rudely interrupted my afternoon's work.  The wireless reuter also died, so I couldn't even try to sort my emails from the browser on my iPod Touch.  I thought of starting the baking I had been planning, and then remembered that our oven is completely electric.  A long candlelit bath was another attractive idea, quickly abandoned when I discovered that our water-heater also relies on electric power.

How odd, both to discover this complete reliance on electricity for practically everything that I do with my life, and also to realize how very lost I felt without the comforting hums and pulses of machinery. Are my hobbies and interests so electro-centric?

And so this city girl writes about electro-centricity. And clings to her iPod, the one gadget that has not failed her. I think if I had a calculator handy I would also be plugging dimly remembered equations into it as if it were a Wii game.

Nevertheless, I will learn from this (non-electrical) shock to the system; from now on I will try to undertake one new activity per month that does not require any form of plug or battery, and report back here.

Any suggestions?