Five years ago I refused to have a mobile phone, thinking they were an unnecessary affectation. Now I donÂ’t know how I would be able to function without one. Not because I use it a lot (I donÂ’t really), but because if it isnÂ’t there then I am afraid I could miss out on something.
This was efficiently demonstrated today, when in my haste to leave my girlfriendÂ’s house so I wouldnÂ’t be late for the gig in Shrewsbury, I left my phone on her sofa. I had an inkling I might have forgotten it about ten minutes up the A3, but there was no time for turning back. I arrived in Hammersmith to meet Simon Streeting and realised I didnÂ’t have it. I was a bit early (dammit, there had been time for turning back after all). Usually I could have texted him to see how close he was, but not today. I was lost. Lost I tells you. The maddening slight inconvenience of it all.
And what if anyone was trying to get in contact with me, maybe to invite me to a last minute plush party in the West End? ItÂ’s not important that I wouldnÂ’t be able to go because I was going to be in Shrewsbury. It would just be good to know that I had suddenly acquired a friend (or a stranger whoÂ’d dialled the wrong number) who knew people who had plush parties.
It also made me realise to what extent the mobile phone is a substitute for memory. Five years ago I would have known my girlfriend’s telephone number off by heart, but now I simply have to press “Steph home” or “Steph mob” and I’m through. So I couldn’t ring her to tell her that she had my mobile. Of course I was able to ring my own mobile, but Steph had gone out. What if the mobile lay hidden under a cushion and the battery ran out? Would I ever be able to speak to her again? Er… yes I would because her numbers are also programmed into my home phone. But I wasn’t at home. I was in a car going to Shrewsbury. I might not be able to contact her for almost eight hours. She could have found someone else to go out with in that time, and with such lack of mobile phone contact there wouldn’t be a person in the world who would blame her.
As it was the battery didnÂ’t run out and I rang my phone at around 6pm and she answered (a bit presumptuously I thought!) I took the trouble to write down her number on something that was apparently used in the olden times, a piece of paper. Contact was re-established.
And apparently my fears were well founded. I had already missed a call from my mum and a text message from my cleaner. (Who surprisingly arenÂ’t the same person. Well not any more.)
You see how popular I am.
