Sometimes, your mobile phone is so bad that you want to leave the country. Not in the kind of “I’m ashamed of my mobile phone because it’s three months out of date” vanity mobile phone usage, but in a “It works so unreliably that it is ruining my social life” way.
But sometimes vanity phone hits even the most cynical, neo-luddites. A few days before Christmas, whilst out shopping, I bought one of those fancy Nokia phones. Word on the Santa grapevine was that it was better to give than to receive. Not wanting to miss out on the pleasure of either, I bought the phone and gave it to myself. A huge exercise in post-rationalisation followed the totally unnecessary purchase: the phone was cheap, my old one didn’t receive calls, it was a great excuse to switch service provider (because T-Mobile have dreadful customer service, a crap web site, and obscure pricing). And a phone that isn’t even splash-proof would be an asset on the beach, so that women in bikinis can take photos of me frolicking – like in the adverts.
The fact of the matter is that the phone was only dirt cheap because the guy at the phone shop kept urging me to harangue T-Mobile customer service – a top tip it turns out. With just a few well timed complaints, three phonecalls, and a bit of judicious lying, T-Mobile were begging me with pounds to stay on their network. (see? I’m still making excuses for buying a toy phone that takes photos, sends email and lights cigarettes)
The best reason (apart from being able to take photos of your genitals in the toilets “by mistake”) for having a camera in your phone is that it can help jog your memory of what the be-jeesus you were up to the night before. For example, I found an entry form for a competition in my trouser pockets today. This simple piece of paper reminded me that I was pissing several bottles of wine against the porcelain (second most inexpensive on the list – stops you looking too cheap) in a pub on Sunday where there was a competition at some point in the afternoon.
However, Sunday’s photo evidence from my phone is more compelling: I can tell you that I was in the toilet of the Bush Bar wearing a nightie on my head just before 9pm. I started writing a text message at 10:07pm when I had absent-mindedly lost my drinking companion between bars. And I was on Uxbridge Road at 11:30pm, admiring a street cleaning truck. It really does help to piece together the puzzle of where the time and money went, without having to wait until your bank statement comes through.