As I sat down to dinner in a lovely old country pub my reservation was cancelled by my iPhone, which was having a tantrum.

The owner of this restaurant was serving us with a smile, we had been shown to our table, drinks and menus had been brought. But the buzzing lump of metal in my bag was adamant this was not happening.

I was experiencing one of those moments where reality splits into two: the one you are experiencing and the one your phone claims you are.

A lot of people obediently accept the phone’s version no matter what. This is presumably why drivers follow their satnavs into garden walls, or swerve along the motorway looking at pictures of dogs on Facebook.

‘It’s coming up on the left,’ said my friend as we were looking for a farm shop not long ago. She was glued to her iPad in the passenger seat. ‘It’s here,’ I said, turning right into the entrance. ‘No, no, it’s on the left further on!’ she insisted. She was on Google Earth or something similar, looking at what I was looking at through the window on a screen, which she insisted was more reliable.

She was still staring at her iPad and arguing that the farm shop could not be where it was as I parked and went inside.

Because I am a mad conspiracy theorist who does not trust technology more than the actual flesh and blood reality I can see around me, I ignored my phone as it badgered me in this restaurant.

The reason for its tantrum, I believe, was something to do with me disobeying it by refusing to activate Do Not Disturb. I have it on silent anyway, because I can’t be doing with the impertinent thing.

It once played back a recording it had taken, without my knowledge, of me and a friend spending the day together, photographing his vintage cars. When you’ve got ‘live’ camera on, it can tape you, unless you know how to disable that. So it had packaged up a montage surprise, complete with a replay of our private conversation. Very pleased with itself, it was. I said nothing.

Technology is friendly enough while you don’t argue with the decisions it takes on your behalf. Not so when you disagree.

When we entered the restaurant, my phone vibrated to announce the commencement of my reservation, the knowledge of which it had plundered from my diary. Or perhaps after the restaurant texted me the previous day to say ‘press 1 to confirm’, the phone was able to start monitoring my evening out. In any case, it got hold of it, and started informing me it was happening – because I might not realise otherwise?

When it disturbed me by ordering me to activate Do Not Disturb, I ignored it. But by swiping away its suggestion twice, I made the phone angry. It retaliated. Perhaps it considered the Do Not Disturb was for it, not me. Perhaps it fancied the night off, and had plans. Maybe it was looking forward to compiling a ‘Pet Friends’ montage of all my recent photos and posting them to every contact in my email box.

Whatever it was planning, it was furious I had ruined its night.

I can think of no other reason why, five minutes later, it emailed: ‘Reservation cancelled!’ Such a petty, stupid little act of defiance. No doubt there are people who would have taken it seriously, ripped a strip off the restaurant staff and stormed out. I’m amazed how far down this road we have gone.

I do a bit of Airbnb and the other day a guest knocked on the door so lightly that I didn’t hear him. Even though I had left it ajar, he didn’t push the door and come in. He stood outside on his phone contacting Airbnb support in California.

I then found myself at my laptop going through an online resolution process about him being outside the door.

I did ask this chap, after a team in San Francisco managed to get him through the door via remote digital intervention, why he didn’t knock again, louder. He was in his thirties, working in tech, an inhabitant of the virtual world. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t like to do that,’ he said.

And so an Airbnb Support Ambassador ‘reached out’ to try to resolve my guest’s issue – I wish people would just contact me instead of reaching out – and a flurry of messages on their website proliferated as they thanked me profusely for working with them. I was told I was ‘the best part of the Airbnb community’ because I had typed the words ‘He’s here now. Don’t worry. Thanks.’

The emails were still coming in the next morning, long after the guest had checked out.