Dave has longed banned me from having a whizzy phone. Apart from the fact that I'd never work out how to work it, he knows that within a week I'd have sat on it, dropped it down the loo, had it extensively drooled upon and there are very few phones that can put up with that sort of abuse. In fact Muddling Along Mummy had a rant about this only last week.
He's proved right. On Friday I went for a walk, Sam in the backpack and Jessie on the lead, tail awagging. We went up over our local train bridge. It was a lovely day. Positively skipping we were. Right up until the point I dropped my (rather ancient very unwhizzy) phone off the train bridge and onto the tracks below.
I may have said a bad word. OK, I definitely said a few bad words. My life is on that phone. It's my watch, my alarm clock and contains all my contacts which are obviously not backed up anywhere else. And there's a few really lovely little pictures on there too. And now, there it was, lying quite a way beneath me next to the tracks looking all forlorn and miserable.
But it was a lovely day. And there was a man down there wearing an orange jacket who took pity on the mad lady on the bridge and rescued my phone and handed it back to me with not even a crack on the screen. So Sony Ericsson W995 I salute you. I don't think they make you any more but you are my kind of phone.
(oh and I just discovered that my phone is a Walkman phone. I didn't have a clue. Apparently that was its biggest selling point. Can't believe they haven't worked out that you can drop it off a train bridge and it will live* as that really should be what it is known for).
*as long as there is a nice man with a bright orange jacket prepared to get it back for you.