We should practise the art of doing nothing

Earlier this year, Hewlett Packard claimed that research showed that "infomania", that is, constant checking of e-mail and mobile phones led to a drop in IQ of some 10 points.

Regular smoking of marijuana apparently only loses you four IQ points. Sadly, the story does not stand up to much scrutiny, not least because it is unclear how the research was conducted.

However, as anyone who has sat in a room which has gone completely quiet because everyone is texting or checking voicemail can testify, the idea of a 10 point drop in IQ seems quite likely, only perhaps 10 points might be too modest an estimate.

Even holidays, once sacred space where people could unwind, have become more and more invaded by technology. I know people who freely acknowledge withdrawal symptoms when they cannot access their e-mail, and who get twitchy when no-one texts or rings them for a few hours.

There is a terrible sense of missing something if we are out of contact for a few days, much less, God help us, for a few weeks. We are indeed missing something. It is the chance to truly unwind, to live life at a slower pace, to watch our blood pressure rather than our IQ drop by 10 points.

Of course, "infomania" is not restricted to mobiles and e-mail. Like everyone else, I am glued to the TV and radio during terrible events like the London bombings, or the failed bombings during the week.

Even though I am certain that the relentless coverage, the need to fill hours and hours of airtime with speculation when no concrete facts have emerged, adds immeasurably to our stress rather than relieves it, I cannot help myself.

Has the technology we have invented to simplify our lives actually ended up making our lives more complicated?

Marshall McLuhan was among the first to point out that our inventions are rarely innocent, and that some alter us fundamentally. McLuhan believed that Gutenberg changed the world, not just because he invented a method of printing that was used for the next 500 years, but because print led to a culture where the linear and the logical held sway. These were the qualities required for reading, but according to McLuhan, these have been superseded in our culture by the visual and the immediate.

Although Gutenberg is most famous for the bibles that he printed, I learned recently that one of the first things he rolled off his press was a calendar for the year 1448. Carl Honoré, author of In Praise of Slow, somewhat glumly sees that as part of an inexorable cultural process of chopping time up, first into years and months, then into hours, and now into seconds.

As might be guessed from the title of his book, Honoré thinks we have all become addicted to speed in everything we do, and that our addiction is killing us. Personally, I have always believed that workaholism is the last acceptable addiction.

When someone shoulders a ridiculously heavy workload that damages both health and family life, people say admiringly, "How does he do it?".

Rare indeed are the people who ask the less admiring but more astute question, "Why does he do it?"

At this time of year, our addiction to work is illustrated by the fact that the feature pages of newspapers are filled with the perils of holidays. Not just the obvious ones, like Delhi belly, but with the dangers of being alone for hours on end with people you rarely see, that is, your family.

Apparently, it can stress already fragile relationships to the limit to be together so much. Also, children who are used to every moment being time-tabled, and to constant entertainment, suffer from incredible boredom.

Strangely, though, in our family it was our eldest son who taught us the value of doing very little.

Every year we retreat to Connemara, where my husband spent his childhood summers. We are heading there tomorrow for a fortnight. Although we originally went there in search of some much-needed peace, we tended to plan a lot of family outings. Our son, however, begged for 'stay-at-home' days, a request which we somewhat reluctantly acceded to.

'Stay-at-home days' rapidly became the highlight of our holidays.

Something is really awry in our culture that the time we have carved out from our mad lifestyles ends up being stressful in its turn. Carl Honoré would claim it is because we live at such a frazzled, crazy space that we cannot relax on holidays, and he is right. He sees the solution in such things as learning to meditate or re-learning the art of cooking a meal that takes time, rather than proficiency at putting the numbers of all the local takeaways on speed-dial.

Perhaps we all need some practice at slowing down, so that our holidays do not cause us panic when they do arrive. We might begin with a national 'Stay-at-home day', where the whole idea is to stay at home and do very little. Of course, those who live alone would be free either to join other people, or to enjoy their own company.

The ancient Jews made a major contribution to our culture with their emphasis on Sabbath as a day when people abstained from work. They devoted their day to prayer, but the concept holds good even on the most secular level. Even though Ireland was never terribly infected with the Puritan spirit, people get desperately uneasy at the idea of doing nothing.

We moderns would probably suffer nervous collapse at the idea of doing very little other than recharging as often as once a week, so perhaps we could declare one of the bank holidays a national 'Stay-at-home' day.

Televisions, radios, iPods, computers and mobiles would be switched off. Real meals would be cooked, preferably not by the person who normally does the cooking.

We might be allowed to read, provided it is purely for relaxation and has no other purpose. We might even talk to each other, and once the stress of doing so little wore off, rediscover the reason why we chose to share our lives with these people in the first place. We might even seek a second national 'Stay-at-home' Day.