Vicky Ewan: Am I ready for tomorrow’s world - or do I need a coffee first?

I don't consider myself to be especially tech-savvy, in the context of this electronic age. Despite my techno-gifted brother's patient tutelage during our childhood, I remain roundly uneducated.
I am perhaps braver than the average person in the generation above me, willing to manipulate the - albeit limited - knowledge I possess to discern how things are likely to work; but I lack the assured, devil-may-care attitude of my offspring who, long exposed to ever-advancing technological progress, are unphased by any type of screen, device or program put in their way.
I suppose I see myself as the occupant of a middle ground, generationally-speaking - savvier than my parents, less savvy than my children. (Prospective grandchildren I cannot hope to rate, unable to fathom the incomprehensible stellar level upon which they will exist.)
I am pretty au fait with my android phone, and with the average laptop and PC; I can navigate my way around apps without undue difficulty; I appear to have no issue with shopping online - or so my bank statement helpfully informs me.
Nevertheless, I harbour a natural reticence, due in part to my limited interest in technology, and my general apathy for tomorrow's world. (It is not my age. I repeat: it is not my age).
Despite displaying reasonable intellectual acuity, and in spite of having no difficulty in applying my attention to new information at the point of contact, I frequently find myself floundering after the event, not wholly convinced that I have absorbed the requisite details to handle whatever new-fangled technological techniques are being thrust upon me. (It may be my age. I concede: it may be my age.)
My enthusiasm is defined either by how easy something is to use, or by how much better it makes my life (coffee shop apps are an especial favourite, and represent a prime example of both of these factors, with their tempting free coffee incentives and other special offers).
When it comes to device purchasing, after a brief flirtation with coveting the spangliest model of phone - and upgrading accordingly - I have realised I am actually happier with holding on to older apparatus, and thereby cutting costs. (It's definitely my age. I confirm: it's definitely my age.)
I had an unexpected notification recently from my network provider, informing me that I had paid off my 24-month device plan, and was free to discern how best my needs could be served in the future.
I was obliged to pay for the physical handset for a further 12 months, but, loathing the transferal palava which that process necessitated, I was not sorry. My interest was piqued; I scrolled through the plans suggested by my phone company (in order of price ascending. Always.), disappointed to discover that, although some were attractively priced in comparison to the contract I had just finished paying, they were by no means inexpensive; I surmised there were better deals to be found elsewhere.
A quick Internet search confirmed my suspicions, and I spent a happy half-hour scrolling through a plethora of third-party deals. Determined to explore all avenues, and sensing that it might be prudent to consult my provider in the first instance, I established a live-chat conversation with a charming representative who sweetened the best deal financially, then dangled a free coffee under my nose (not literally; technologies are not yet sophisticated enough to emulate the wonders portrayed in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with food being teleported from television to hand, more's the pity - oh! Maybe that's what the prospective grandchildren will excel in!).
I countered the offer by brazenly suggesting a second beverage, and was on the verge of signing up for another two years when we were cut off. Frustrated, not least at having already devoted more than an hour of my life to the pursuit of this deal, I abandoned the chase temporarily, and retired to ruminate over my options.
In my inbox the next day there arrived a message from my current provider that acknowledged my itchy feet and attempted to lure me back into the fold. Intrigued, I made contact again, only to learn that the plan described by the assistant the previous evening had not, in fact, been valid.
We were back to a less favourable deal, with not a single coffee on the metaphorical table. Disillusioned, I decided to cut my losses and forge ahead with a different company. The one useful element of the conversation was that, should I decide to strike a deal through a third party and wish to keep the same number - which I wholeheartedly did - I was obliged to change network.
This was vital information, leading me to locate a deal that harnessed an alternative network, and I initiated the changeover process there and then. As promised, things were up and running within two days, and my fears that my old number could not, through technological failure (or malice), be transferred proved to be unfounded.
I am now the proud owner of a SIM-only plan, cancellable at a moment's whim, with all the specifications I need plus a significant reduction in my monthly bill. With the savings I'm due to make, I reckon I might even have enough for three coffees. Now that's what I call savvy.