It happened quite spontaneously, really. There were no long discussions on the hours wasted in front of the box; no debate on the deleterious effects it was having on our young children; no soul-searching inquiries into whether our intimate moments had disappeared into a vacuum filled instead by inane comments on how enthralling/infuriating or tedious such and such was on television that evening.
We moved house and we simply didn't bring the television with us. Radical, I know, but we moved from a house in the heart of the countryside to one smack-bang in the midst of a new development in Dublin's southside suburbia. We felt the new distractions would already be immense. Noise, neighbours and neurotic reactions about whose car is the newest, cleanest and most expensive, whose lawn needs mowing and who's got the coolest new blinds. More seriously, however, we decided that now we had traded off two hours of commuting for two hours at home with our children and ourselves, we didn't want television to come between us.
The first 10 days were the most difficult. No 6 p.m. news, no Questions and Answers, no midweek movie, no Late Late Show (and these are Gaybo's last, so everyone should be watching). Not to mention missing out on the huge, life-changing effects moving from four-channel land to 44-channel land would have made. How would we manage? And for the little ones: No Barney, no Rugrats, no Lizzie's Library. For weeks, when asked how she was settling into her new home, our three-year-old daughter said that she missed her TV. She spoke about Rugrats characters, Tommie, Phil and Lill and even Angelica in the fore-lorn tones one uses when talking about long-lost friends who have moved to Australia or Japan. This inevitably made us feel like the meanest parents on the planet.
So, instead of watching television, we were now spending our evenings wondering whether we should bring it back. Maybe it wasn't fair to deprive someone so young and sensitive of her favourite television personalities. We could hide it in a cupboard and take it out for designated viewing sessions. Keep it in the study and only release it for special occasions. Watching television could become the ultimate treat, the prize for extra good behaviour and the solace at the end of a taxing day.
One teacher friend spoke of some children who weren't allowed to watch television. When they inadvertently saw something in school, they were so enthralled in comparison to other children, it was simply charming to witness. Their moods swung with the changing fortunes of the characters as their faces lit up with excitement which turned to tears, then laughter. The other children sat quietly, absorbing the story without even a twitch of emotion. I quietly dreamed that my children would become like this - entranced by an occasional televisual window on the world.
In some ways giving up television is like getting over an addiction. Slowly we began to substitute our television viewing with less interrupted chats. Everyone could now be heard and the banishment of the television meant that extra voice in the corner had been silenced.
Essentially, the biggest change was that we became the focal point of the room instead of the television. There was no "Ssshh, I'm watching the news," or "This really isn't suitable for children," as the 7.30 p.m. soap droned on. No "That's enough TV for now," as our three-year-old demanded to see more than two hours of continuous television, even if she was no longer watching anything. No fights about who was watching what or who was more bored by which of the latest batch of guess-what-we're-selling-you advertisements.
There is no longer a huge pile of newspapers in the corner waiting to be read. The Irish Times is now read from cover to cover on the day it is published.
We began to crave good books. Always avid readers who, like most people, found it hard to find enough time in a day to read the newspaper, not to mention a book, we now have some spare time to read. We even find ourselves going to bed earlier at night and waking up refreshed in the morning.
The radio has unsurprisingly become a more important source of information and entertainment. One question, though, has come from this new domain - why oh why is there no radio for children, featuring storytelling and musical games? Have all Irish children abandoned the radio? Would some cleverly produced programmes draw some of them back?
We have also begun to sit down and listen to some jazz, gospel and classical music in the evening. What a real treat. Having nearly mastered the video recorder before it disappeared alongside its partner, our three-year old daughter could now concentrate her energies on managing to play her tapes. Sometimes, she even suggests putting on something we all might like.
We still don't know whether the day will come when we simply give in and buy a new, digital, flat screen which will hang like an ever-changing painting on our sitting room wall. Maybe living without television will become a worthy experiment carried out in a stressful time where the demands of work and family life were enough.
Meanwhile, one thing is certain: it is altogether refreshing to come home of an evening to the knowledge that our reality will be untainted by the interpretations of the world through that small box in the corner.