Inside My World

This is My World — every screen your mum or dad actually sees, and what each one does.

The home screen. A greeting by name, the date, the time, and a few very large buttons — up to six, and you choose which appear. Notice the last one isn’t called Help: it takes the name of the person it rings.

See family. One question — who would you like to call? — and a face to press. No numbers, no accounts to sign into.

Email, before anything has arrived. It says so plainly — no empty inbox to puzzle over — and offers the one thing worth doing: write a message.

Writing one. There’s a box to type in, ready-made messages underneath — Checking in, Thank you, Thinking of you, Need help — and a purple button worth pressing.

Help me write it. Rather than a blank page, it asks a question anyone can answer: why are you writing?

Then: how are you feeling? Happy, tired, worried, grateful — or skip it entirely.

And there’s the letter, written and ready to send — in their words, in their name. They can change any of it, or send it as it stands.

Photos. Family tap Share, then Mail, and the picture appears here by itself — no folder to set up, no app, no account.

Radio. A short list of stations, and sound that goes up and down in steady steps — without anyone going near Windows settings.

Internet. Not a browser to get lost in — a few places you’ve chosen together, and a Home button that always comes back here.

The Help button is not an emergency button — and the app says so on the screen itself. It rings one person you choose, after a countdown they can stop.

And that’s all of it. No menus behind the buttons, nothing else to find — everything you set up lives behind your PIN, where they never meet it.