Back in the day, I was often in London for work. Off to the airport at stupid o’clock, A-Z in hand, squinting at the tiny streets through sleep-crusted eyes.

Once off the plane, I got around by train and tube. It’s hard (although not impossible) to go in the wrong direction following a modular map. This worked pretty well and I made it to Soho House for my meetings in one piece and eventually got the hang of how long it took to buy a new coat at Topshop in Oxford Circus and still make it to Stanstead in time for the flight home.

I even had an Oyster card, which felt thrillingly metropolitan.

What this system did not do, however, was show me much of London. At one point I was there at least once a month. But ask me to do more than walk from the tube station to a hotel or fancy private members’ club and I was stumped.

Interviewing Doris Lessing at her home in the wilds of Hampstead felt like going on safari. I was so thrilled to actually find Tony Benn’s house in Holland Park that I forgot all my questions.

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Technology changed all that. My first trip with a smartphone is imprinted on my memory. Juggling with my emails and diary on this mysterious new box of tricks, heading for the underground, a revolutionary thought occurred. I could get a bus and follow my progress on the map. What kind of witchcraft was this?

Boarding the bus on the wrong side of the street, and so going in the wrong direction? This, a constant possibility when left to my own devices, would be immediately apparent.

The bus doing something unexpected? See above.

Finally I could emerge from the bowels of the earth and experience a bit of London.

On I got at the British Library. And sure enough, a pulsating dot progressed along the route. The correct route. I’ve now no recollection of where I was going. What remains these 20-odd years later is the thrill of being above ground, of watching the streetscape changing, of seeing more than a procession of adverts whizzing past a curved window. Then getting off at the right stop.

I could also walk, which was previously far too terrifying to contemplate. Holding the A-Z at a jaunty angle, while also struggling with a heavy handbag and Topshop carrier, sweating like a bear in a too-heavy jacket? No thanks.

But following a clearly marked route on a phone? I could manage that.

Unfortunately, by the time technology had caught up with my geographical anxieties, my work trips to London were almost over. Now my visits are more like once a year. But the joy of using Google Maps remains.

In fact it has increased, as public transport now uses the same satellite technology as the bus and tells me when, exactly, the 63 might appear round the corner to scoop me up.

This still feels like magic, to walk along streets I’ve never seen before, wait alone at a bus stop in a quiet street and then get on a bus which takes me exactly where I want to go.

On the way I can look out the window at areas I know only by name. Then we turn a corner and go past London Bridge or the Houses of Parliament.

There is much to dislike about the smartphone-induced changes to human behaviour. I want to weep when I see parents hunched over a screen while their wee weans want to discuss trucks and diggers. Phones at gigs drive me bonkers. Who do you think will watch your shit video taken from the back of the Hydro? And so on and that’s before I’ve even got on to what’s happened to the news media.

But for those of us who remember the terror of navigating a big city with nothing more than hope and a tiny street map, Google Maps is a liberation.

I just spent two days in London. On my own. On day one I did so many steps that the sole of my right foot developed a blister. Working through the pain, a bus journey from the Tate Modern to the Albanian Embassy - never say I don’t contain multitudes - was smooth and picturesque. The tube back to Bloomsbury was brisk and not as stifling as I’d feared. It was a relief to be underground - an afternoon with Leigh Bowery and an evening in Little Tirana was enough stimulation for one day.

Day two and a march to the Barbican reminded me of Londoners’ mission to fill the most unlikely spots with plants.

Unprompted, Google Maps started me back on a different route. When I spotted the tomato plants I’d seen in the morning, it was like greeting an old friend.

On the downside, I had to wear socks with my sandals to protect my sore foot. But when you’re on your own, stomping fearlessly through unfamiliar streets, it’s no bad thing to look a little bit bonkers.

And it beats weeping in an east London housing estate because you got on the bus on the wrong side of the street.