Today I bought a mobile phone.
This is a very solom and tragic day. I have betrayed one of my most strongly held tenents. I now own a “fucking mobile”. For that it is it will be called. I will answer the fucking mobile. You will call me on the fucking mobile. The fucking movile will remain turned off most of the time.
The annoying thing is, it’s a fascinating piece of technology and potentialy very useful indeed. The mere fact that I have a piece of plastic seven centermetres tall in my pocket which can make phone calls, send messages, etc etc is really quite stunning. But it makes a stupid noise and is addictive. I spent about two hours tonight playing with it even before I discovered the game where the penguin pushes the ice blocks around.
Anyway, I have a mobile. It will remain switched off most of the time and I’ve got a very expensive call rate (25p per minute) to persuade me not to use it too much. But the fact remains I have one.
If I’ve ever ranted at you about how evil they are, if I’ve ever given you dirty looks when yours goes off in the pub when we’re talking, I apoligise with the caveat that hopefully I will be able to restrain myself.
I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
That said, it’ll be really useful at comic conventions!