'It is hard to expect a senior citizen to be on Facebook if they can’t afford to heat their home because of the limits of their state pension.' Photograph: MBI /Alamy

 

There's no getting around it: I am from the class of 1923, which makes me very old. When I was a boy, people thought our technological limit was reached with the dazzling Flying Scotsman's train engine. At the time, I probably agreed. I had seen a film of the Flying Scotsman at the pictures, which left me dizzy with envy for the passengers. I marvelled at the people who could afford to ride that locomotive and gallop between London and Edinburgh in less than eight hours. I was born into a Britain where the majority of the population didn't have a telephone, the wireless or indoor plumbing. Now our island is interconnected with motorways, airports and the internet. The speed with which we can now communicate or impart information, swap jokes, share files and holiday snaps leaves me gobsmacked. In my lifetime, I have gone from learning Morse code to sending messages on Twitter.

The internet has become our agora, the meeting place where diverse opinions can be debated alongside comments on last night's football match. For those able to participate, it is a wonderful place to learn, speak one's mind or relax by playing an online game. For me, being able to navigate through the internet has made my old age a less lonely place. The death of my wife and then the loss of one of my sons forced me to confront and become familiar with this new, and at first forbidding computer equipment. Simply put, as my grief over my wife and son eased, I wanted to join the land of the living and all of the diversity it offered.