I forgot to take my mobile phone to work today. I had a slight “Oh, bugger,” moment when I realised it wasn’t in my bag, but my heart didn’t start to beat faster and I didn’t need a brown paper bag to blow into. It crossed my mind that according to the dictates of Sod’s Law, someone would need to get in touch with me, but the odds were in favour of my surviving the day without it.
I am always in trouble with people for not carrying my mobile with me every single second of the day. At the weekend and evenings, it’s usually minding its own business on the bedside table. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” ask mobile-addicted friends, who then berate me for my foolishness: “It might have been important.”
These are people who have the latest, blingy, all singing all-dancing mobile models. My brother even has one with a TV button on it. Mine, on the other hand, is five years old and doesn’t even have a camera. It is geriatric in mobile terms but it does a passable impression of the White Horses theme tune when it rings.
It’s not that long since the mobile phone was a novelty, not a necessity. I do not dispute that it has saved people’s lives when they have been stuck on the sides of snowy mountains or when shipwrecked in stormy seas. If I were planning to climb a mountain or sail the oceans, I’d probably take my phone with me. But in the general scheme of things, I don’t always want to be contacted 24-hours-a-day. Sometimes, it’s better to be elusive.