One big difference between people of the more mature generations and their younger counterparts is that they were born into the technically-complex world of today and know no different whereas we can well remember when life was much simpler.

From time to time, don't we just yearn for a return to those straight-forward days?

Never more so, recently, than last weekend when Priestley Towers was hit by the power cuts which afflicted huge chunks of north Bradford during Saturday night and Sunday. It didn't take us long to realise just how dependent even non-electric appliances are on electricity in the brave new world of 2000AD.

The trouble began when Cilla Black was asking a Blind Date contestant what her name was and where she came from. We never found out because the television went off and the house was plunged into the gloom of dusk.

There was enough light, though, for us to find the candles we'd put by for the Millennium Bug chaos that never materialised and get some of them lit.

By torchlight, we found the Yorkshire Electricity Freephone number and called it on the mobile (because our main phone, a cordless one which has an electric-powered base unit, wouldn't work).

A pre-recorded voice advised us that the Freephone number wasn't free for mobiles, so we quickly hung up and groped our way into the other room to the secondary, non-cordless phone, to be told that a major fault was affecting the whole area.

The gas central heating had gone off, of course, because the system is powered by an electric pump. However, the gas fire would still light, so heating at least in the living room was no problem. Nor did we think that supper would be affected.

That was sitting in the fridge: some packs of various curries and pilau rice from the chiller at Morrisons. They only needed heating up in the gas oven, which we could light with a match rather than the electric ignition - or so we thought.

Except that the gas oven has an electric timer. We've never used it. Wouldn't dare. But it's there, and because of it, presumably for safety reasons, when the power is off no gas will flow through the oven's jets.

It was looking like beans on toast as an alternative, cooked under the grill and on one of the hobs (which would light with a match), when the electricity came back on, and stayed on until bed time. So it was curry after all.

It was at 2.15am when we awoke to a robotic female voice from down in the hall announcing: "Please wait for thirty seconds!". There was a pause, then a "BEEP" and the voice adding "The unit will answer after six rings."

The answering machine was reactivating itself after another power cut. The electric alarm clock at the bedside was flashing "12.00", as it does when it's been deprived of power even momentarily. I switched on the lamp and reset it, because we needed to be up and off early in the morning to take part in a car-boot sale (quite an experience, which I'll tell you about next week).

And so we settled down and were just dozing off when the answering machine ran through its repertoire again. And again, the alarm clock had reverted to "12.00". There had been another brief cut. I'd just reset the clock again when everything went off once more - this time for good.

So I lumbered off and by torchlight found an old mechanical alarm clock, wound it up and set it and then tried to get back to sleep. That wasn't easy. I was waiting for the answering machine to wake us up again. And I was worrying about the food in the freezer.

The power was still off when the wind-up clock sounded its alarm at 6am. We got up, boiled a pan of water on the cooker top for a cup of tea (the kettle's electric) and another to fill the flask, and went off to the car boot sale.

When we arrived home, around 1pm, the power was still off. It came on again shortly before 2pm, its return announced by the answering-machine robot.

I reset the alarm clock yet again, plus the timer on the video. We checked the freezer to find, much to our relief, that the food was still solidly frozen. And so all was well, and (touching wood frantically) remains well. Except that yesterday evening someone asked me "Who's the strange woman living at your house - the one you've got on your answering machine?"

A power cut deletes my own manly message from it and replaces it with a standard message from the female robot when the electricity comes back on. I'd forgotten to re-record my message!

I Don't Believe It!

Coach travel up and down the country can take an inordinately long time, even if it is described as "Express". That's what Don Burslam found when he set off from Cardiff at 9.45am and arrived in Leeds around 5pm.

"That's nearly seven-and-a-half hours!" he protests. "I'd previously flown all the way from Wisconsin in only eight hours."

He was also put out because the "Express" coach kept leaving the motorway to go into various town centres, trundling along busy suburban roads. And there was very little heating, even though it was on one of those bitterly cold days we had to put up with last week.

I know what you mean, Don. Mrs Mildew and I travelled to Bristol by coach last year and the journey seemed to go on forever. My legs were so cramped and numb by the time we arrived that I almost fell down the coach steps. Mrs Mildew had to hold me up or I'd have been on my knees on the tarmac.

It wouldn't be so bad if they just set off from Bradford and went straight to their destination using motorways all the way. But that would hardly be economical, because they wouldn't have enough passengers from one place alone. So the coaches have to go into the town and city centres along the route to pick up passengers or drop them off, and it slows things down horribly given the congested state of most urban roads.

I much prefer the train, but that's ridiculously expensive. Coach travel has the one saving grace of being cheap, particularly if you use one of the over-50s coach cards that are valid at certain times of year.

A grumble of a rather different kind comes from one Mr Callaghan, who asks when the City Solicitor's Department is going to take appropriate action against the "proliferation of illegal advertising, street furniture and road signs - 'Earn extra income', various adverts for fitness centres, etc."

He says: "It should not be too difficult to trace the culprits as contact numbers, directions etc appear on much of the offending material. The whole environment will soon be one giant advertisement hoarding."

Yes, it does make the place look a bit messy having all these signs tied around lamp-posts, doesn't it? What annoys me, as well, is those people who stick advertising leaflets behind your windscreen wiper when you leave your car parked somewhere.

Most people just screw them up and throw them on the floor. That's the last thing Bradford needs, isn't it, given its litter problems?

If you have a gripe about anything, drop a line to me, Hector Mildew, c/o Newsroom, T&A, Hall Ings, Bradford BD1 1JR, email me or leave any messages for me with Mike Priestley on (44) 0 1274 729511

Yours Expectantly,

Hector Mildew

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.