I could never be credited with being a trailblazer within the world of technology.

In fact, I think the term Luddite has probably been uttered through the gritted teeth of most of the IT help desk bods that I have ever encountered, despite always remembering to turn my PC off and on again before calling them.

It was only just after the turn of this century that I finally gave into pressure and reluctantly got my very first mobile phone.

You’ll remember the type, big, black and about the right weight to securely anchor a North Sea oil tanker.

Matching its bulk, was the 300-page tome of instructions that sought to teach me the phone’s functions; namely, how to make a call, set an alarm, play a game and send a text message.

Mysteriously, it also came complete with enough neatly-coiled wires to reach to the moon and back. I never did find out what they were for but, shamefully, I can guarantee that I still have them somewhere.

Over the years I’ve kept my phone basic, but having recently got to the stage where it was embarrassing to get my phone out in public (people were taking photos of it), I took the plunge and upgraded to my first smart phone. The whole process was seamless and efficient. Within a few minutes I was out of the shop, all my contacts effortlessly transferred and I was mentally and literally all charged up and ready to rumble. But back at home all my problems began. Firstly, I discovered to my horror that they hadn’t included the charger. However, on closer inspection I realised I was wrong. By twisting and pulling the curious lump of plastic included, it transformed into a plug that can be used in three continents and two neighbouring planets. Next, I realised they’d forgotten to supply the instructions. Then it dawned on me that the wafer-thin leaflet included was the only printed matter deemed necessary to explain how to operate this core piece of technology. From accessing the internet, email and other social media devices, to learning how to use the voice recorder, calendar and camera (let’s not even start with loading up apps) this slip of paper was all I had.

I’ve found more detailed advice on the back of cereal packets.

However I was delighted to find many of the functions quite intuitive. I quickly added a new contact, sent a text and worked out how to train the camera to take a shot every time the subject smiles. It was all going beautifully.

But then someone called – and I had to wait three days for my teenage girls to return home from Corfu before I could answer it.

Within half an hour they had logged me into my Facebook, opened a gmail account and signed me up for Twitter.

For them it must have been as hilarious, as it used to be for me watching my dad carry the remote control over to the TV every time he wanted to change over channels.

And for me, maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally started to get my finger on the pulse . . .