Saturday, 19 July 2014

Rest in peace

It is with regret and sympathy that I must inform you, my mobile phone has died.
Or is it?
I mean, am I regretful and in mourning?
Yes I was annoyed when it finally turned a blacker shade of black, and all apps and colour vanished from my iPhone. And yes I panicked for approximately two minutes, wondering how Mark and my mum could contact me. As well as fretting over the absence of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and the Internet in general. In Particular Twitter, I realised it was no longer possible to check every five minutes, just in case George Michael had tweeted.
We've got so dependant on our mobiles, haven't we? Well, I know I had. My mobile is the first thing I check in the morning, the last thing at night, and all the other times in between. It's my watch, my alarm, my camera, my communication, my window to the outside world.
Then I stared at my blank and cracked screen and thought to myself, will the sky fall to earth because I can't use my mobile? Will I be able to cope a few days without an iPhone?
The answer is, of course I can!
"But what if there's an emergency?" said Mark, as he was leaving for work the morning of its departure to mobile heaven. I had booked the day off, so I was holding Tommy as he was screaming in excitement at an orange triangle on his walker.
"I'm sure there won't be," I said very loudly above Tommy's screams. "And it's not as if we live in the middle of nowhere, I can always knock next door and use their telephone. Or, you can email me on the lap top?" I was feeling very clever, remembering the lap top, and registering that I could still check the Internet.
But do you know what? I didn't need to check Twitter, or Facebook, or Instagram, or the Internet in general. I spent a day not constantly monitoring my mobile and texting useful\useless updates. And it was rather nice.
Okay, I had to announce on Facebook, via my lap top, that my mobile was no longer. I didn't want people thinking they were texting me and I was ignoring them. The World Wide Web is handy for that sort of thing, nearly every person I know has a Facebook account, so it was easy to let people know my dilemma.
In the past I've lost many a mobile phone, in an ice bucket/aeroplane/taxi/pub, therefore experience of loosing friends and families telephone numbers has led to recording numbers in my black address book. Arr, gone are the days of scrambling around, trying to collect numbers and inform everyone of my careless circumstances.
And luckily I'm insured. I've learnt my lesson regarding insurance, after the time I smashed my phone at an awards evening and a feeling of overwhelming despair ruined the night when I remembered I'd forgotten to renew my insurance policy.
So you can understand why dear readers, after a slight panic, I was perfectly fine living a mobileless life.
It's now been five days and still the sky from my world hasn't caved in. Fortunately I haven't had to drive Tommy anywhere without communication, I think that's the only time I would have felt uneasy. And Mark kindly lent me his mobile when I worked from home, and I had to divert all office calls to another available number.
So iPhone 5, you may have decided your work here was done and your life with me was over, but I have managed to survive without you.
Maybe next week my new handset will arrive, but hey, it's cool, I've proved I can live a few days without a mobile.
Just as long as I haven't missed a tweet from George Michael. One day I'm convinced he will reply to one of my tweets from one of his tweets. And if that happens, well you can be sure I'll tell you all about it.

Wednesday, 2 July 2014

The end of an era

As I clung to the sweaty silver pole, with a stranger rammed against my already aching feet, I remembered train journeys in rush hour are very undignified.
I also remembered that high heeled shoes are best avoided (especially after nine months of flat heeled boots/pink fluffy slippers) and breakfast should be essential.
I painfully slipped one foot out of my poisonous foot wear (bliss!), pretended I wasn't feeling queasy, tutted at the stranger ramming himself, and tried not to cry.
It was precisely fourteen minutes since I'd said goodbye to Tommy, leaving him in the loving hands of my mother. Fourteen minutes of not looking at his infectious smile and his arms flapping about excitedly.
How could I possibly survive the rest of the day?
I had to battle on. My maternity leave was over, and I was expected to return to work. Finances meant I had to return. I consoled myself with the knowledge that extra money meant fabulous toys for Tommy at Christmas, and we could afford the fireguard, stair gates and play mats for his safety. Safety was vital, and the tiny piano spotted on Amazon was not cheap.
Besides, we were hoping Mark's new career would take off into successful oblivion. Or I would finally get round to writing that book, and could therefore be the stay at home mum I was craving to be.
Until then I had to show my face again in the office. I admit it was kind of nice seeing familiar people. I was met with hugs, smiles, and cries of, "I can't believe you're back already!"
I sat at my desk and stared at the folders and blank computer screen. Could I remember what I was supposed to be doing? My heart ached when I thought of Tommy laughing at his musical cow and his chubby little arms reaching out for me.
Okay, it wasn't all doom and gloom, the sales rep from our printing company called to confirm our lunch date. So after discussing sleeping habits and suitable baby food with Jo (colleague who's also had baby and returned to work), I escaped and headed to Prezzo's.
Prezzos was heaven at a table. To be able to eat with two hands again, concentrate on my food, and not gobble in an unladylike manner, was stuff dreams are made of. Breaded mushrooms, garlic bread, chicken, bacon and avocado salad, honeycomb cheesecake and two glasses of wine have never tasted so good.
Back at my desk I got stuck into some work, it had to be done.
Then the afternoon whizzed by, after quite a few Tommy text updates from my mother, and I practically leapt to the train station for my journey home.
This time I made it my priority to stand in the correct place when waiting for my train, so as not to be rammed against strangers (usually it works). I also took advantage of the free magazines circulating, to pass the time before I was reunited with my son. Oh hello there Stylist magazine, it's you again. I gratefully read the pages and realised I was getting the hang of this commuting lark all over again.
And tomorrow I would sensibly wear flats shoes. High heels are over rated and I couldn't care a less what my legs look like these days. I have more important things to think about, such as how much I've missed Tommy and how I couldn't wait to see him again.
But shh, don't tell him, I don't wish to offend him - it wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be.