Technology for the over 60's should come with health warnings.

I have to admit that it has been something of a nightmare weekend. One that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy ... well, maybe at a push.

Every weekend I make the pilgrimage with my daughter to see my mother (the grandmother/mother supreme), and I am astounded at how many E-numbers my daughter willingly consumes in her attempt to drive me insane while my mother (beloved grandmother) coaxes my daughter into new realms of chaos and unbidden freedom.

But this weekend was different. This weekend I was dealing with the antichrist. Or so it seemed.

It was not so long ago my mother got her hands on a Kindle (something I have yet to do) and has loved it since day one. She managed, with only a little tuition, to buy and download books at will; she even managed to synchronize her collection with her laptop, but this one particular weekend she upgraded to the Kindle Fire.

I know what you’re thinking. Where’s the problem with that? It’s good she’s upgraded. But you have no idea how far away from right you really are.

My mother is the kind of person who shy’s away from technology (usually) and only ever uses it if she is forced. She never willingly buys it, and, I have to say, with good reason. For example, she hates working the DVD player, loathes trying to fathom the Sky+ box beyond it’s simple functions, scratches her head when it comes to Facebook, and celebrates the fact her cell phone still has the old fashioned keys.

So imagine what happens the moment she buys a Kindle fire and immediately introduces herself to an entire world of unimaginable cluelessness. A world only apt to find resolve by turning the damned thing off, lamenting the fact she cannot use it, and sticking it in a drawer.

And this is repeatable until she is able to find a knight in shining armour: me.

It should not have posed as many problems as it did, and I can only liken the whole situation to something of a Hellraiser event. Instead of a puzzle box we have a Kindle. It was torturous.

It could just be I didn’t have the temperament for it right then as my daughter ran round the house like the Flash, climbed walls and couches like Spider-man, and persistently chased after the cat proclaiming to be the red Power Ranger. It could also be that I didn’t know what I was doing properly. Or, alternatively, it could have been the fact my mother couldn’t seem to work the screen as well as she would have liked. But whatever the reason it was a nightmare.

I did show her though, eventually. And she understood the majority of what I told her (or so she said), but after all that she simply turned it off, put it back in the drawer, and said, “I think I’ll remember for later”.

I could have cried.

I’ve even started posting on her Facebook wall in an attempt to coo her into action, fearing the whole event will happen again in a week or so because she’s forgotten – even though I know, when the time comes, I’ll put myself back in harm’s way and attempt to placate the devil dressed in a cardigan and mismatched mule slippers.

So if you guys ever get the call from your mothers after a venture into new technologies, I can say only this: be afraid. If technology can seduce my mum, it can seduce anyone.