‘I have never owned a television’. It is one of those statements which, depending upon whom I am talking to, can produce anything from mild surprise to the sort of look usually reserved for people who confess to having no central heating. (Which, by the way I also don’t have.) There is sometimes an assumption that I must therefore be terribly worthy, or terribly boring. Or possibly living in a little house somewhere without electricity (well, it is a restoration house) and communicating with the outside world by carrier pigeon. None of these things is true. I like electricity enormously. I am rather fond of technology. And I can assure you that my pet ducks and I have not yet resorted to carrier pigeons.
The truth is much less dramatic. I have simply never wanted a television enough to buy one. That sounds almost ridiculously simple, but it is actually quite an important distinction. I have not spent my life making a grand stand against television. Nor do I think there is anything inherently wicked about watching it. I consciously chose, very early in my adult life, not to have one. Once I had made that choice I discovered that I rather liked the life that came with it.
It Was Never Really Part of My Lifestyle
For many years, of course, the decision was helped along by circumstance. I travelled a great deal and moved about frequently, rarely staying in one place long enough for buying a television to seem remotely sensible. When your life can be packed into suitcases, backpacks or boxes with surprising regularity, a large black rectangle demanding a permanent place in the sitting room begins to look like a rather unnecessary commitment. There were always other things to spend money on. Other places to explore. New homes to make temporarily comfortable, and eventually another move to make. A television never quite made it onto the list.
Then, somewhere around mid-life, I finally found myself living in one place for more than a year. And that was when I discovered something rather useful. I still didn’t want one. It seems, I had become accustomed to varying what filled my evenings.
I Was Raised by Someone Who Didn’t Like Television
Some of this stems from my childhood. My father was, and still is, anti-television. He wasn’t anti-television in any great ideological sense. Rather, he simply didn’t like it. He found it too loud most of the time. And looking back, I suspect that was probably enough of a reason for him. We did have a television when I was growing up. It was tucked away in the basement rather than occupying pride of place in the family room. If we wanted to watch it, we had to make a conscious decision to go downstairs, switch it on and sit in front of it. It wasn’t something that happened automatically because the evening had arrived.
And yes, of course we watched it. We were children. There were programmes we wanted to see and evenings when going downstairs to watch television was exactly what we wanted to do. But television was only one of the things available to us, rather than the background soundtrack to my family life. We played outside a great deal, when the weather and the light made that possible. Television was more suited to those long winter evenings when darkness arrived early. And even then, there was a designated point when it went off and we went to bed.
Developing Boundaries
There was no negotiation arond time for bed. We had solid boundaries as kids. Sometimes annoying when bedtime was on the half hour and the programme ran for an hour. I still remember there were a variety of times programmes ran on past my bed time that I never saw the conclusion of. Each year bedtime progressed by 30 minutes, so some years were okay with finishing programmes and others, well, not. I learned to not watch those that ran over. Which also aided me not always watching what everyone else was watching, and talking about. That distinction stayed with me.
It meant that television never acquired that curious status it seems to have in so many homes, where it is switched on almost before anyone has decided whether they actually want to watch anything. It becomes company, background noise, something to fill the silence while dinner is being prepared or dishes are being washed. Something that is simply there. I never developed that habit, and consequently I have never missed it.
The Peculiar Business of the Television Licence
When I was settled in the UK, there was another slightly peculiar element to not having a television. Namely, the television licence. I became familiar with the letters and warnings which could arrive with a rather impressive amount of bold red ink and an air of impending doom, as though somewhere in the country there were squads of BBC officials poised to rappel through windows at the first sign of an illegally watched programme. The reality of the licensing rules was, of course, rather more specific than the scare tactics sometimes suggested. But the whole business always struck me as slightly absurd when I didn’t even own a television in the first place.
There was something wonderfully reassuring about being able to look at the television licensing correspondence and think, quite honestly, I don’t have one. Problem solved. Or at least, my part of the problem was solved. But a more interesting thing happened after I settled in one place and had been without a television for a while. I began to notice what I was doing with the time instead. And that, really, is where this story becomes less about television and much more about time.
The Time Was There All Along
There have always been more things worth doing than there are hours in the day. Books waiting to be read, knitting to pick up, letters to write, friends to visit and any number of ongoing projects quietly taking shape. There is my medieval garden, of course, and the pleasure of being outside working away at it, as well as all the things that can be made, mended, learned or rearranged indoors. Not owning a television simply left those hours available.
That has become even more apparent as I have got older, because time has acquired a different sort of value. When you are young, an evening can feel almost infinite. There is always tomorrow and next week and next year, and the idea that you might have spent three hours doing something you don’t particularly remember afterwards doesn’t seem especially consequential. I no longer feel that way. My time is becoming more and more precious.
I don’t mean that every minute must be productive, because that would be exhausting and rather missing the point. Some of my favourite hours are the completely unproductive ones, when I am doing very little indeed and simply enjoying the quiet. But I do like choosing how I spend those hours, and that little word ‘choose‘ has become increasingly important to me.
I Am Not Anti-Technology
Perhaps that is why there is also a certain wariness about the modern smartphone. In many ways it is a miniature television which has learned how to follow us everywhere, carrying an endless stream of images, messages, news and distractions quite literally in a pocket. There is little appeal in replacing a television in the sitting room with another screen which can demand attention throughout the day, particularly when so many of its applications are designed around keeping us looking, scrolling and returning for just one more little glimpse.
That should not be mistaken for a dislike of technology. Quite the opposite. Technology can be useful, fascinating and genuinely marvellous, opening up possibilities which would have seemed extraordinary only a generation ago. The pleasure lies in being able to choose (again, that word) when and how those things are used. There is a considerable difference between making use of technology and allowing technology to make use of us.
It may sound rather old-fashioned, although there is little sense of being particularly old-fashioned in other respects. Modern conveniences are very welcome when they make life easier, and there is something wonderfully clever about being able to carry an entire little library around on a Kindle, ready for an evening of reading before sleeping. That is technology at its best, quietly useful, unobtrusive and there when wanted, rather than constantly asking to be noticed.
A Quiet Narrative
The quiet has become rather important over the years, although it is difficult to say exactly when that happened. Perhaps it was always there in some form, simply unnoticed until there was enough of it to appreciate. My home and garden are wonderfully quiet, and the village has no constant hum that comes with living in a larger place. With the windows open at night, about all I will hear is the odd owl calling.
There is something particularly pleasant about hearing the occasional sound from outside rather than having another voice filling the room. I do remember when I was a kid, after watching television, there was often a need to read for a while before sleep would come properly. It was as though the moving images had followed along upstairs and were still carrying on somewhere at the back of my mind. A book had a rather different effect. However exciting the story might be, the pictures formed gradually and at their own pace, without the succession of faces, voices and movement that television provided.
Perhaps that is what has always been so appealing about reading. The imagination does some of the work, quietly creating its own version of the story, and those pictures seem to settle rather than jostle for attention. They can be vivid without being overwhelming, and when the page is turned, the scene changes at exactly the speed it needs to. There is something very peaceful about that, even when the book itself is anything but peaceful. If I contrast that with TV images, I realise that the screen activates my mind, rather like a strong cup of coffee, rather than a chamomile tea. All the more reason for me to particularly not watch in the evenings.
But What Do You Do?!
There are plenty of things which make an evening enjoyable without a television, particularly when there is something for the hands to do. A puzzle spread across the table, the radio or audiobooks are wonderful company to projects. There is something very satisfying about listening to a story while the hands are occupied, whether that means knitting a few more rows, sorting something out, restoring a piece of furniture or getting on with one of the many jobs which seem to belong naturally to an old house.
At the moment, with the restoration of my medieval house properly underway, there is certainly no shortage of such things. There are rooms to work on, decisions to make, materials to find and an endless succession of small discoveries which come with bringing an old home back into shape. Beyond the house there is the garden, the village, work, things to make and ideas which have a habit of turning into projects of their own. And even YouTube. I am not anti-TV, just having one in my home. Watching YouTube means chosing to open my laptop to watch. Usually some sort of house restoration video, of course.
And perhaps that is one of the quieter pleasures of living without a television. Boredom has never needed to be treated as an emergency. There are times when doing absolutely nothing is perfectly pleasant, when the house is quiet and the evening simply unfolds without anything demanding attention. (Except maybe my cats.) There is no need for every hour to be occupied. It is enough to have the freedom to decide what comes next. And there is always something to do.
Could You Live Without One?
Perhaps this has you wondering whether life without a television might suit you too, although that certainly isn’t the point of all this. Maybe the idea of not having one has never even crossed your mind. Or perhaps there is one sitting proudly in the middle of the sitting room, part of the furniture whether anyone is watching it or not.
There is nothing wrong with that, of course. But I do wonder whether, if the television were tucked away somewhere rather than given pride of place, the room might feel a little different. And whether an evening might occasionally unfold in quite another way. It is a small thought, really, rather than a grand philosophy. What might happen if the television simply wasn’t the first thing the room offered when you walked into it? Perhaps nothing at all. Or perhaps, like me, you might discover that there are rather more things waiting to fill an evening than you realised.
More Musings
As you can see, I like to muse and write on a variety of topics. This is but one. And if you have enjoyed what you have read, you can find more musings in my Finding a Simple Living, as well as other areas of life. Have a browse, more importantly have a read. I’m afraid you won’t find any videos to watch here.
And if you enjoy reading, check out my Vive le Livre Book Club, where a selection of books, mostly about France, are reviewed and suggested for your entertainment.
If you really are into images, please check out My Shop. Here’s a taste of what’s on offer below. Simply click on an image to see more. (And yes, I do use videos to showcase items in my shop.)
