A few minutes after I sat down to write this, Malta suffered a nationwide power cut. Immediately, the internet connection went off and, within 10 minutes, so did my very sluggish laptop battery. My mobile, which I was about to put on charge, died and the water in the kettle stopped mid-boil. No cup of tea, then.

Then the panic hit: what if the power cut lasted into the night? I'd have to shower with cold water and sleep with dripping hair (and wake up to a tea-cosy like bad hair day). It would mean no hair dryer, no warm towels, no electric blanket, no heater to cosy up the bedroom, no washing machine to wash the shirt I want to wear tomorrow morning. And, more specifically, would I have to handwrite this column?

This wasn't the first time I'd spend waking time mulling over this. At the beginning of winter I had planned to write an article on living without electricity, which meant switching the power off at home for a couple of days but, to be honest, I kept postponing it. Because, deep down, despite being an eager environmentalist, I am human. I am an urban girl. With the exception of the telly, which I hate with a passion, I'm addicted to the luxury of electrical appliances.

So I spent the whole four hours in darkness, pondering humanity's fate. What with the depletion of resources, oil prices hitting record highs and the increasingly unaffordable bills, will we one day all be forced to live in grottos?

We were told earlier last week that there are already people in Malta, at the bottom end of the poverty scale, who do that: the man who lives in a cave and showers once a week; the woman who lives on a farm without electricity and running water. Are these one-offs or will more of us be joining them?

In my melodramatic mood, as soon as power was restored, I downloaded an award-winning documentary - The Crude Awakening: The Oil Crash - which analyses our modern lifestyle's dependence on oil; from driving to work to our clothing and clean tap water.

Here is how scary it is: a journalist asks a physics professor if his grandchildren will ever fly in an airplane. "I think the answer is no," he replies.

Then I watched an interview about another oil documentary, The End of Suburbia. The director, Gregory Greene, sums it up: "It looks as if we are pretty, ah, f***ed." It made for a completely depressing evening.

The known facts are these: the amount of oil discovered each year has been shrinking for four decades. The last time we discovered more oil than we consumed was 25 years ago; today, for every barrel we discover, we consume three.

With the world's financial systems teetering, I wonder what would happen if we woke up one day to find the power permanently off. No press releases from Enemalta reassuring us it was just a(nother) boiler explosion. Could we survive? Could I?

I look to apocalyptic films - there's plenty of them about - for some survival tips. If we follow the advice of films like, say, 28 Days Later and Survivors, the way to survive is to retire in some country mansion, straight off Homes and Gardens, nibble rationed portions of biscuits and eat tinned tomatoes (then, unless you're the six-packed grunting hero, you'll be shot by someone suffering from post-traumatic psychosis).

I would like to think, if I ever was the film heroine, that I would suggest we venture out and live off rocket salad in the fields rather than spend a lifetime on canned tomatoes. But of course I would have no clue how to go about it. So I think we need to start practising.

A good number of people around the world, except in Malta, last weekend, celebrated the spring equinox by turning off the power for the weekend - for fun.

People who took part in the 'Power Off Weekend' (www.touch woodproject.com) reported how a typical weekend of TV, e-mails, buzzing appliances and continuous lighting was converted into one of candles and oil lamps, food cooked over a wood fire, and evening entertainment of card games, stories and stargazing.

Because it sounds like fun, I'm psyching myself up to do it. But it will be a struggle. No laptop? No electric blanket? I suppose it would be useful and enlightening to know my relationship with electricity; the things I take for granted and those I simply refuse to ever give up.

Perhaps the Prime Minister should take note: heftier bills may not quite be the solution, but power-off weekends just might.

krischetcuti@gmail.com