Monday, 26 October 2009

Call Me !

I can stand breaking the heel of my favourite Jimmy Choos, I am a permanent resident at Heartbreak Hotel, hell I can even tolerate working for HWMBO (although hopefully, not for too much longer); but take away my phone and I am sorry but things can turn mildly hysterical with me.

Having left uncharacteristically early from work, without so much as a click of my red heels, I was at home happily pondering what to have for dinner. One horror filled dip into my overflowing handbag confirmed the absence of my phone. Panic gripped me as I desperately retraced my steps, trying to remember when last I'd seen or used it.

Racking my brains was a cloudy, unfocused exercise, particularly as all I could think about was the number of irreplaceable numbers I had on my phone, along with several random numbers of psuedo men who turned out to be no more than dating footnotes.

I thought about last weekend when in an attempt to clean up my numerous saved messages, I relived some very funny and sad moments. For me at various times in my life, my phone has been a mobile support system. It has enabled me to communicate with my wise family, diverting friends and occasionally taken me on a journey of passison, which has lifted some days from mundane to the enchanted.

Arriving back at my office, I was delighted to find that slick, silver box of memories nestling happily in my in-tray. Must save my numbers to my laptop I thought, before calling F.

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