Dial M for Muppet

Yesterday, whilst bending down next to the open lift in my building, my mobile phone slipped out of my bag, slid through the 1 inch gap between the lift and the floor (the downside of evolving from the ‘brick’), and went hurtling down 4 flights to land in what must be several pieces in the murky hole at the bottom of the lift shaft.

Once I recovered from the initial sensation of slitting my own throat at the mere thought of being without an instant means of contact, plus losing the hundreds of names and numbers and some highly questionable photos, I started to apply some perspective to the situation, recognising that it is only a phone. It is not a living being, or a million pounds, nor in fact anything that really matters in the scheme of things.

I then began to get quite excited that after 7 years of paying £5 a month for insurance with my mobile firm, that I’d actually be able to make it all worthwhile.

How naïve, how very naïve of me!

Apparently, since I know the actual whereabouts of the device, under the rules of this particular insurance policy, a replacement cannot be issued until the original has been retrieved. This is despite the fact it will take all manner of efforts to retrieve it and, lets not forget, is likely to be in many pieces (4 flights!!!) so, without question, will not be in working order.

Had I lost my phone on the tube, left it in a hotel room in Bangkok, or inadvertently lobbed it over the edge of the Grand Canyon, then I’d probably have a new handset in my possession right now.

Still, looking on the bright side – I’ve learnt lessons from the experience!

Firstly, never bend down unless all your possessions are firmly padlocked into whatever carrying receptacle you may be using!

Secondly, honesty is NOT always the best policy. Next time, I’ll report it stolen, creating un-necessary paper work for the police, adding to the inaccuracy of soaring crime figures, and all in all screwing the system up even more than it already is!!

BTW – a word of warning: Apparently, if you drop your phone down the drain, and you know which one it was, they make you call the council to retrieve it!!!! Nice job!

You’re in a Jam. Say Cheese

Its midday. I’ve been up for 3 hours, very tired following a wedding the previous day (not mine), and heading back home 300 miles away. Its hot, I’m sweating alcohol, my head is spinning, and keeping my breakfast in its rightful place is proving harder than it should.

Then we hit traffic. The first jam was inevitable. We hit it in the other direction on the way to the wedding, so common sense dictates we’d see the arse end of it again.

We get through that one. Then we stop.

And stay stopped.

People start to turn off their engines (good to see – the environment and all), then I notice that there is no oncoming traffic on the opposite side of the crash barrier. That’s not a good sign.

People started getting out of their cars, and walking up the carriageway (as people seem to do in this situation – like finding the cause of the hold up is likely to get you moving faster!?!). A couple of young blonde-haired surfer dudes skateboard down the empty carriageway and some other guys started hoofing a ball about.

But then came the piece-de-la-resistance of traffic jam behaviour, that I have never ever seen before.

People actually started taking photos of themselves, of their families, their cars, other cars, and pretty much anything that was in their line of sight.

My question is simple. In god’s name, WHY????

What can there possibly be about sitting in a traffic jam that would ever possess anyone, however unconventional, to regard it as a memory worth savouring?

Bad enough to have to look at other people’s holiday snaps normally. But imagine if they start showing you the pic’s of: ‘this is me in the traffic jam’, ‘this is the dog in the car in the traffic jam’, ‘this is ……’.

NOOOOOOOO! It’s not right! Get Rid!

The sound of silence

I’m fascinated by the capacity which the sound of silence has to be deafening.

I’m a city dweller, and have been so for pretty much most of my life. I recently went on a camping holiday that was quite literally in the middle of nowhere (in middle England). The stillness at night was a true wonder to behold.

The lack of police sirens, drunken party goers, repetitive drum beats, rolling rubbish bins, and other familiar urban noise was conspicuous. To actually hear trees rustling in a gentle breeze is something I only read about in period drama books, or that I last remember hearing as a young child.

Of course, like most things, there is a down-side to the beauty of such silence when on a campsite. The sheer lack of any noise meant that I was subjected to moans from the neighbouring tent as they got down to business, which subsequently put me off engaging in any such activity with my beloved (much to his disappointment). This lead to a period of persuasion on his part, refusal on mine, and the consequent exchange that ensued managed to do away with any silence that our fellow campers may have been enjoying.

So much for silence!!!