Sunday, January 26, 2014
Yesterday I got a new mobile - a Samsung something-or-other sufficiently hi-tech to provoke envy amongst the Wafflettes yet clearly sooooo 'last year' for there to be a deal. The jolly salesman punches my details into the computer & comes up with various options which prove we've been paying well over the odds for the past year or so. He checks the number of messages I send per month & is astonished at the figure: on average I send 7 (the typical teenager sends 60 plus per ... day). What do I have to say? I shrug apologetically.
I walk to the other end of the shop to collect the phone. A small brown box - it might be a pack of tea. Is that it? No manual, of course. Exasperated, L. grabs it out my hands & shows me how to unlock the screen, flip through menus, etc.. Pure intuition. Or simply the result of playground conversations. Phones are the lingua franca of the becoming-adolescents these days.
See ya. Wouldn't wanna be ya. L.O.S.E.R.
"Switch off the candles?" One extinguishes, my dear ...
. rrh'isOIV ... a wasp just buzzed in through the Velux & went scrabbling across the desk & keyboard ... now up & ...