I do and will continue to moan about the amount of time people spend on their mobile phones – and that includes my own grown children.

However, I got an email this week that made me think again, to think back to a time when we didn’t have mobiles and the worry that could cause.

The press release I got was headed “Summer Stress-Rivals ad was put out by a company called Vergo.

It talks about parents’ worry when their teenage children go to their first festivals.

It suggested that parents call these teenagers twice a day to make sure they are okay.

I suddenly remembered a time when my son, aged 12, was going to a church camp.

We put him on a bus that had only one stop before his destination and he knew not to get off there.

Remember this was New Zealand in the early 80s ad there probably wasn’t a safer place on earth.

We said a fond farewell to an excited boy and returned home.

A couple of hours later we got the phone call from the camp organisers: “Is Andrew not coming this year. He wasn’t on the bus.”

Numb shock soon turned into blind panic.

For some reason I became fixated on the idea that he had been “stolen” by the Moonies, who were more of a “thing” in those days.

Strangely enough, my husband was calmer than I was – and he is much more of worrier. I think he was trying to bring me down from the ceiling.

Our son Andrew was and is extremely bright but sometimes intelligence does not translate into the skills of everyday living, so I was even more worried.

If he had got off at that one stop and lost track of time, he was now abandoned in a small town not knowing what to do next.

If the Moonies had taken him? Well, that was the end of our lives.

Another stressful hour passed when we were on the verge of calling out the police, military and anyone else who would respond when the phone rang.

It was Andrew.

Suddenly I had to revise my opinion of this child who could not possibly survive in the real world.

The camp was in the village of Frankton, almost a suburb of New Zealand’s tourist capital, Queenstown. However, the organisers had indicated that he would be met at Queenstown, so he didn’t bother getting off at Frankton.

He got to Queenstown. There was nobody there to meet him. So, what did he do? This was an Anglican church camp. He wandered around Queenstown until he found a church, located the vicarage nearby and explained his predicament.

My son the brain box!

The only criticism I have is that the vicar fed him before getting him to call the camp where he was informed that his parents were in a state of panic.

He couldn’t figure out what the fuss was all about. He was fine. Why were we worried?

So, you know what, kids – next time I moan about you and your mobiles, remind me again of the time we didn’t have any!

But remember the flip side. Now I can call you day and night and the next day too!