The Blackout: My Unsung Heroes of Electricity

I realised not that long ago that I had become a totally useless millennial, reliant on all the little luxuries that only exist because of electricity. I didn’t even notice how much I’d taken them for granted until a power cut hit — and not just for an hour or two, but for two whole days.

The first night, I sat in a dimly lit living room surrounded by a few tiny candles and a headlamp, stomach rumbling in anticipation of my glamorous dinner: bread and cream cheese. My fridge, of course, was bursting with raw vegetables, raw seafood, and more bread — none of which felt particularly appealing without an oven, hob, or even a splash of light to make it all seem edible.

And then there was the silence. Pure silence. Sitting with my parents, three decades apart in age, all of us suddenly aware that without the TV humming in the background there wasn’t much connecting us. No light, no noise, no distraction — just us, in the dark, wondering what to do with ourselves.

That’s when I realised how many everyday items quietly hold my life together in the background. Here are a few of my unsung heroes — the everyday lifelines I didn’t appreciate until they vanished.

The Kitchen Quartet (Microwave, Toaster, Kettle, Oven)

It hadn’t really hit me how much I relied on these little machines until the blackout. Without them, there was no way to turn raw fish and vegetables into anything remotely appetising. They just sat there, silent and smug, while the fridge slowly gave up on my beautiful ingredients.

I was left with nothing but bread — bland, boring, plain carb. Meanwhile, my wood-fired pizza oven was sitting neglected in the garage, the one thing that could have saved me. At work, I’d cooked plenty with flames, but I’d never actually lit the fire myself. So there I was, a chef with all the wrong tools: bread on a plate in the living room, a perfectly good oven untouched, and my so-called kitchen quartet lying lifeless in the dark.

The Phone & Charger

Then there was my phone — basically the extension of my arm, welded to my hand until they were almost one. I did the sensible thing and switched on super battery saver… until I realised all my favourite apps were banned under this strict new regime.

So I told myself I’d just turn it off briefly to check Instagram. No notifications, obviously, but one reel led to another, and before I knew it my tiny entertainment-starved brain was locked into the loop. I’d glance at the battery: down 10%. Panic. Back on saver mode. Then, five minutes later, off again — just in case something new had appeared in my spam emails.

It was denial, pure and simple. I kept convincing myself I could somehow stretch a finite battery forever. And when the phone finally died, something else went too: that constant hum of stress and twitchy anxiety. With the screen dark, I felt oddly lighter. I even set the alarm on my actual alarm clock.

The Laptop (and Charger, Yet Again)

Of course my phone wasn’t even my main device — evenings were always laptop time. It had everything my phone had and more. I’m one of those people who Googles absolutely everything: if something comes up on TV or in the news, I’m straight there with the answer.

Add to that the endless tabs, the menu planning, the writing — my laptop was basically my entire brain. This time I didn’t even bother with battery saver. With every new tab I opened, I could almost feel it gasping, the life draining away a little more, until finally it gave up completely.

I closed the screen and, without the distraction, something else caught my eye: a notebook and a pen. The only thing missing now was autocorrect.

The TV

The TV was a strange one. I didn’t actually watch it that much — I’m too millennial for that. If I want to watch something, it’s usually on a streaming app. Really, the TV was just background noise, a hum to fill the silence while my laptop did the heavy lifting.

But when the blackout hit, the silence was deafening. Living with my parents made it worse: they’re perfectly happy to sit in total quiet for hours, while I can’t last ten seconds without some kind of noise or distraction. If we didn’t find a solution, I was convinced we’d all lose our minds.

Luckily, I dug out an old pack of cards, a scrap of paper, and — for when we were feeling ambitious — a two-in-one backgammon and chess board. Battling it out with my dad kept my brain busy enough that my thoughts didn’t spill out as endless chatter. Though I’ll admit, there was the occasional burst of competitive goading.

The Lights

And finally, the most humble and least thought-about of all appliances: the lights. I never use the main ones anyway — I prefer lamps, pools of soft glow — so I didn’t think it would be a big deal.

But I wasn’t prepared for absolute black. No screens, no cosy lamps, nothing. Just the harsh beam of a torch and a few pathetic tealights sputtering away. I swore to myself that once the blackout ended, I’d buy a proper old-fashioned lantern — the kind you can carry from room to room like a lady in a Victorian drama.

Epilogue: Transformation (Sort Of)

Those 48 hours were a strange little saga: first came the panic, then the denial — the kind where I convinced myself that if I kept scrolling, my phone battery might magically recharge itself. Inevitably, denial gave way to despair, the long hours of nothingness, and finally a flicker of epiphany: maybe I didn’t need all these glowing screens after all. By the end I felt weirdly transformed, ready to face the next blackout without fear.

And then the power came back. The fridge hummed, the oven beeped, the TV flickered on, and all my noble plans — the woodfired oven, the emergency candles — quietly dissolved. Within minutes I was back on my laptop, life restored to its usual buzz.

In fact, one of the very first things I Googled was how much an electric Ooni would set me back.

So maybe I wasn’t changed at all.