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I have lost my mobile ‘phone

April 14, 2011

Actually it’s been a little while now, but I am just beginning to face up to the dreadful possibility that I may have to go out and get a new one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as susceptible to rampant consumerism as the next woman, but I do dread all that decision making. I’ll be expected to know what I want, and if I’m honest all I really want is my nice old motorola pebble. I know it’s pretty old now, and I’m not quite as pathetically fond of it now as I was a few years ago, when I thought I had lost it while we were on holiday in France and cried until Super Girl found it for me in the bag I thought I had already looked in. That was the year we camped near Angoulême, so that was three years ago, and it wasn’t a new ‘phone then, but I like the way it opens out, and its pretty colour, and its very tactile shape, and there aren’t any like that any more.

The worst of it is that I am convinced that it is still in the house somewhere. I thought I heard it calling out to be charged, but I didn’t do it straight away (bet you’ve never known me put something off like that before!) and then it fell silent. Now in a better-regulated household this would have been sorted out by now: the hiding places would have been few and the recalcitrant phone would have been tracked down, but my home is not to be tackled by the faint hearted. It requires a stiff drink and Ariadne’s thread, just in case you need to be guided back out from amongst all the stuff.

I’ve taken my life in my hands and burrowed deep into the kitchen, but to no avail. On the bright side we have weeded out quite a few old pairs of shoes, but the phone remains stubbornly hidden. I think it’s sulking because I didn’t charge it when it wanted. Oh well, tomorrow is another room – as Scarlet O’Hara might have said, if she’d lost her mobile in Tara.

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