I’ve just had to make a very expensive insurance claim, thanks to an Autism-induced incident involving a large glass of wine and an old Apple Powerbook G4 laptop computer.

And the insurance company has delivered a replacement – a MacBookPro with all the whistles and bells. It is better, faster, stronger and shinier than my old Mac.

But they have missed the point.

Your own laptop, with its scratches, dents and faded bits where you rest your wrists when you touch-type, is as personal as your toothbrush multiplied by your underpants. It has several GigaBytes of silly, pointless and unnecessarily saved files and post-it notes that any sensible person would just throw away.

And after nearly 20 years of being able to carefully transfer files from an old computer to a new one, all the perks of finally, for the first time in my life getting a brand new computer all to myself just don’t wash.

I know. I’m ungrateful.