Immobilised.


I’m using a replacement mobile phone for the next few days as mine is faulty. In the meantime I shall closely resemble a member of my dad’s generation as I try to fathom out how to work it.

It took long enough to set it to vibrate. No function is stored in the logical place. I felt like I was using somebody else’s hands.

Frustratingly, the people in-store were unable to migrate my contacts to my replacement handset. For the next week or so, answering my phone will be an exercise in pot luck. Each call could be someone offering me work or asking for money, with absolutely no warning as to which.

If only I'd been clever enough to memorise my numbers. If I had, I could have gone on You Bet!. That's their exclamation mark, not mine.

I’ve sent off my old phone because of an abnormally high bill due to an inexplicably massive use of data. I normally pay around £50 a month; my last bill was £256! That exclamation mark was mine.

Vodafone were helpful enough to put a freeze on my bill until my handset has been checked. This is a shame as I’d like a reason to be bitter; I was penciled to do a commercial for them until yesterday, when I found out I didn’t get the job.

Until I get my old phone back, I can only call my girlfriend, Glyn, my agent, my parents and myself. These are the only numbers I can remember. I could also phone the Going Live!* studio, though I imagine the line has long since been disconnected.


(*Theirs.)

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