Daniel Wainwright: Time to ditch the gadgets and use our little grey cells

For me, it is an air raid siren to avoid a dystopian future where humanity is on the brink of destroying itself.

It's not cute. It's as alarming and nightmarish as 1984, Children of Men or Soylent Green, the Charlton Heston film where the overcrowded world exists on processed rations more shocking than anything Findus could stuff into a 'beef' lasagne.

In Wall:E, human beings are bloated, useless slobs – too fat and pampered to do anything for themselves thanks to technology catering for their every need.

That's me.

Not physically, you understand. I still get plenty of exercise dialling for a takeaway and changing channels with my own fingers.

But mentally, my brain wants for nothing.

I hardly have to think for myself or solve a problem anymore thanks to the sum of all human knowledge at my fingertips through my phone.

It has its uses, of course.

I managed to fix my boiler when it just decided to stop providing any hot water for the house thanks to a discussion page where plumbers, or people with a lot of know-how, inexplicably share this wisdom for free with people like me who learned a lot at school and university but don't actually know anything.

My wife wanted me to call in a professional, which I knew would lead to expense and embarrassment at my own inadequacies.

But as the boiler started to fill with water once more I declared myself to be known henceforth as 'Legend', then proceeded to wander around the house with various tools stuffed into my belt until an unfortunate incident involving a hammer handle and something a darn sight softer than a nail.

The iPhone has become a bit like that machine that Gerry Anderson's puppet hero Joe 90 used to sit in so he could absorb the knowledge of experts and become a genius. There shouldn't really be a downside.

But pessimistic oik that I am, I knew I'd find one eventually.

And here it is. I can't solve anything without Google.

Even playing the latest Batman game on the PS3, I've taken to just Googling the online 'walkthrough'. Instead of an adrenalin fuelled assault on the evil-doers of Gotham City, I'm following the instructions until I get the sweet reward of the end credits.

Every little cough and splutter from my 17-month old results in a trip via Google into the world of Mumsnet.

I'm currently trying to stop myself asking the questions that keep me awake at night: Am I raising my daughter correctly? How long should I leave her to cry if she wakes up? Is it wrong to insist on waiting for an advert break during I'm A Celeb before going to check she's all right?

For me, the epiphany over our collective reliance on each other's knowledge and experience was when I saw the absurd debate a few weeks ago over a beaker.

One woman, apparently genuinely, sought reassurance that it was completely normal following an act of intimacy with her other half for him to drop his tackle into a beaker of water, placed in advance by the side of the bed.

Throughout the ensuing online discussion we heard all and sundry explaining just how weird this was.

But hardly ever did anyone point to the real elephant in the room, which was this: Why are you even discussing it in the first place?

I have to get away from the net and re-discover the ability for independent thought. I'd consider joining the luddite movement. But I can't find their website.