This weekend, my mobile 'phone decided to take a break. Maybe it was fed up of ringing, beeping, waking me up in the morning and storing a random assortment of strange images on its memory card. For whatever reason its little screen stayed black, and it stopped working. At first, I looked at it incredulously and began a little game (often played) of turning it off and back on again. Only this time nothing happened. The black screen was still staring at me.
Never mind, I thought, it's just a 'phone and it can be fixed.
Thing is, it's not just a 'phone - it's kinda my life ... in that little silver lump of moulded plastic the size of a bar of soap lies my contact with the outside world. I couldn't go to a party because I didn't have the address, and the numbers of all those I could have called to get it were stored inside. It's weird, I feel like I've lost a friend... or I have no friends, I can't decide which. At least ten times a day I reach into my bag to check for messages and missed calls, but the handbag is devoid of items the size of a bar of soap this week. Maybe I'll get used to this and become one of those irritating people who only have a landline and are never in, those you have to arrange to meet at precise times because there's no way of texting to say you'll be ten minutes late. Hmmm. It's a thought.
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