Are teenagers addicted to screens because their whole social life is online?

There are some domestic issues on which men and women will never agree: the ideal ambient temperature of the sitting room, why it’s more important to remember the date of your wedding anniversary than the Battle of Agincourt, the pressing need for your daughter to have her phone in her bedroom after 9pm.

In a week when parents have been told in no certain terms that “night texting” is not only A Thing, but a thing that is damaging our children’s exam performance, school grades and life chances, I must hold up my hands and admit I am drowning, not waving, or even signalling to the invigilator that I need more paper. I wish.

My daughter is 13. Her phone may not be her bestest friend, but as it’s the conduit to her best friends, it’s as good as.

Her life is on and in that device: gossip and fashion and confidences and arguments and shopping and declarations of undying sorority.

Remember how we used to feel about the latest issue of Jackie in the entertainment-starved Seventies? That sums it up, except in this age of hyperacceleration, she experienced that endorphin surge every single time she picks it up.

And all without making a single phone call. I thought I was being terribly sensible by taking out a monthly contract for her. I needn’t have bothered. The only person she ever speaks to on the thing is me.

Despite belonging most unequivocally to the “night texting” brigade, she doesn’t even really text, either. Durr, why would you, when you can just DM?

In case you too grew up in the 70s or still have a dewy-eyed ten-year-old as opposed to a sophisticated teen, DM is no longer short for Doc Martens, but Direct Messaging on Instagram (not Facebook, which is, like, for old people in their thirties).

To all intents and purposes, my daughter is wise beyond her years and certainly beyond much of her peer group in that she understands that too much screentime is depressing and oppressing.

She willingly embraces the concept (in theory and practice) of regular detox days, and can manage to get by without so much as a minor grumble, provided we are doing something hearty and outdoorsy that is enjoyable but, crucially, not so enjoyable that it needs to be documented, minute-by-minute, on Snapchat.

here were hundreds of thousands of photographs to be liked and swiped, extensive replies to friends, banter (I have an inkling it’s not called that any more, but she refuses to update my settings so it’ll have to do), and awful lot of “she said and then I said and then she said” exchanges.

Add her personal preoccupation with vegetarian issues and the fate of pitbulls languishing in a Miami dog shelter, and that’s a full multitasking shift she’s put in before lights out.

"As her peers assume greater influence in her life, she needs to feel connected and in touch because the opposite – disconnected, out of touch – is social suicide"

It’s astonishing and impressive and scary. And I don’t know how to stop it; nor am I even sure I should.

Her father is adamant that she should put her phone on a shelf outside her room the moment she’s in her bed. She gets round this by endlessly faffing about in her room, or shouts that he doesn’t understand.

Of course he doesn’t. I wish I didn’t either, but I do – hence the conflict.

Warnings this week about babies and little children being hooked on tablets and smartphones comes as no surprise to me. But it’s relatively easy to remove the iPad from my seven-year-old. She might shout a bit, but can be swiftly distracted with a game of Ludo or Barbies or some sort of face-to-face activity.

Teenagers need social media to feel connected to their peers. 

Not so my teenager. As her peers assume greater influence in her life, she needs to feel connected and in touch because the opposite – disconnected, out of touch – is social suicide.

Let’s face it: if I confiscate her phone, she’s not going to snuggle up with a copy of Little Women and nod off. She’s going to be insomniac, inconsolable and the effect on her self-esteem doesn’t bear thinking about.

But what if her grades are affected due to a lack of sleep? Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Maybe headteachers should stop getting so exercised about mums in school-run pyjamas and implement a national high-tech curfew?

They need to educate children and parents about the dangers of online addiction. And if that fails, just channel the power cuts of the 70s and switch off everyone’s wifi at teatime.