‘How are you grandma?’ I asked, walking back home from the tube station after work. I always used to call her on Wednesdays when I still lived in London, I can’t remember how it started but since it happened twice in a row, it had become a fixture in grandma’s diary.

‘Fine, I had lunch club today. It was my favourite. Roast beef and giiiinger sponge for dessert.’

‘Great! Did the neighbour take you?’

‘Yes. I must ask him what he’s been shopping for next week. I’ve taken a few parcels in for him recently and they’re all from the rainforest! Whatever could he be buying?!’

‘The rainforest? What are you talking about?’ I asked, confused.

‘Yes, it says amazon on the parcels!’ 

‘Ooooh! Grandma, that’s a company name!’ I said laughing. ‘You shop online and they deliver it! He’s not buying anything from the amazon, the rainforest!’ 

‘Oh! Well how he does his shopping on a computer, I’ll never know.’ Was her answer. I thought I sensed a little disappointment that there was no juicy rainforest shopping gossip to be had. She got used to that delivery service quite quickly, and soon she became the one to collect all the deliveries for the street if the neighbours were out, which provided an excuse for a chat and was vital for intel gathering on the goings on in the cul de sac.

This type of conversation is common for me. At 98, grandma has never tried to understand technology and has done her best to avoid it until I came to live with her. She is endlessly surprised, confused, and unsure about what I can do from ‘those machines’ as she refers to my phone and computer. 

I remember showing her my new laptop I had bought while at university, she didn’t want to touch it, barely looked at it, and said, worried: ‘Just be careful of the paedophiles on it, I heard that’s where they are now.’ 

I reassured her through my giggles that they weren’t going to pop out of my laptop but that I would be careful, despite being out of the age range of aforementioned paedophiles.

During the pandemic, like most of the UK, I turned to online grocery shopping. This caused consternation from grandma about how the supermarket would know what we wanted, and more importantly, if they would get the right type of wine. 

‘The shopping will come between 2 and 3 tomorrow, just so you know. I’ll deal with it.’

‘2 in the morning! I’ll have to set my alarm!’ Was her unimpressed response.

‘In the afternoon, why would it come at 2am?!’ 

‘Well, I don’t know what anyone does nowadays. Why can’t we go to the big Tesco like we used to.’

This was her usual refrain until she got used to the convenience, and after she’d caught COVID, her enthusiasm for unnecessary trips to crowded places was dampened.
She has now got into the habit of waiting anxiously, sitting by the living room window hours before the delivery is scheduled, but I suppose it gives her something to do while I’m working. She also thought it was a miracle that I booked all her COVID jabs online and that it translated to the nurses at the clinic actually expecting her. Emails are also a complete mystery to her and she will occasionally try to give me stamps for the emails I send to her friend in New Zealand on her behalf because ‘it is such a long way!‘. I have tried many times to explain the concept of the internet and emails but she is consistently baffled by the whole thing.

It is too late now for grandma to get into technology as she can’t see well enough, but ironically (and completely accidentally) she would be quite tricky to hack; she has no online presence, and hangs up the phone if she doesn’t recognise the caller, faithfully following my grandfather’s advice of ‘never doing business on the phone’. She also has a habit of hiding in between the hallway and the living room, pressed up against the wall if she suspects any salespeople are at the door. A cyber silver lining, I suppose.