Once upon a time I had a desktop computer with an underdesk box the size of an apple carton and a complicated wire maze that joined speakers, keyboard and fluffballs to a monstrously large monitor, the connecting of which could have been a marathon episode of ITV’s The Cube without any financial enticement.

Moving with the times, I was delighted when this IT dinsoaur died: I replaced it with a neat laptop, eliminating the need for myriad components and moving forwards into clutter-free future, living a wireless dream. Dream on!

A couple of years on, I am suffering once again with an infestation. I may be mouse-free now, but wires have crept back into the house. They are smaller but move surreptitiously around the home charging cameras, tablets and shuffles.

And, if you take your eye off them for a moment, they tangle themselves into a knot that is two-thirds the way to a knitted romper-suit or a three dimensional representation of a complicated road network. Either that or they disappear entirely and require the services of a full-blown search and rescue party.

Wire identification is an art, a sport or a challenge for the children respectively with their ‘Who-says-a-square peg won’t fit into a round hole’ mentality. I meanwhile have resorted to stickering everything as if we were learning new words in an early learning classroom.

Despite this, packing to go away for a few days still requires an electronics degree and a good deal of shouting.

If it wasn’t for the extra wire, I’d be plugging in headphones to escape from the ‘Mum, where’s the lead for…?’ Last week we braved Spaghetti Junction and headed up to the Yorkshire Dales for a spring break amid lambs and daffodils. And it was a break to remember: ‘spring’ consisted of the 10ft snowdrifts, metal shovels, new tyres, and grit for the road surfaces. Refreshingly, none of these things required a power supply more complicated than Yorkshire puddings and oatcakes. I’ll be going back, just as soon as I’ve recharged the sat nav.