My modem broke. My life was in disarray. Funny how quickly you come to rely on modern technology - or, in this case, modem technology.

Five years ago I wouldn't have been suffering. My home computer was little more than an occasional distraction.

It had a modem, which, I understood, meant I had access to a rarely-used email account and a vast mass of websites.

But in those days I still preferred talking to people on the phone and looking up information in books.

Besides, my computer at the time was so slow that it took me a whole afternoon to download anything. It was quicker for me to get a bus into town and visit Brighton library.

Now, though, I have got used to turning to my keyboard to communicate with friends and then spending a good hour just letting my curiosity meander through the web.

Having that access to far-flung corners of the globe seems so liberating. It's not particularly time well spent, but it's usually more interesting than watching the telly and less taxing then getting on with writing my novel (which is still only at the pre-planning stage).

But then, two weeks ago, something worrying happened. I was trying to connect to my email server when a warning flashed on the screen about the phone line not being properly connected.

So I fiddled with the wires a bit and something went clunk.

When my husband came home I told him I was having problems with the modem and that I thought it was something to do with the hardware. He told me to talk in English.

"There seems to be something loose in the computer's box," I said, gesturing with my hands to aid his comprehension.

"What, again?" This was a pertinent question. When the computer was delivered to us a year ago it had an unexpected rattle.

My husband investigated and found a stray screw among all the delicate wires and circuits. We should have sent the machine back to the suppliers in Cheshire, but as it still worked and our internet connection seemed fine, we didn't bother.

The unhappy ending to this is that it now seems the screw was probably serving a purpose, or had caused some sort of damage. This week my husband took the side panel off the computer's box and tried to fix it.

His knowledge of electronics doesn't extend beyond changing a lightbulb, so it was no surprise to either of us when the modem still failed to respond.

Then we checked the warranty and found that we were still covered. The only problem was we couldn't email the company we'd bought it from and their phone number was out of order. It turned out the company had gone into liquidation.

If we wanted the damn thing mended we would have to pay a computer specialist to do it.

"It's our only option," said my husband.

"You're right," I agreed. "I can't live another day without a modem."

I said that three days ago and do you know what? I think I'm changing my opinion. I wrote a long letter by hand to a friend the other day and imagined to myself how happy she would be to have something nice come through her letterbox.

I have also rediscovered the joy of thumbing through old encyclopaedias and making phone calls. I haven't yet got further with my novel, but that's largely because I can't drag myself away from the telly.