Monday
I can’t take the pressure any more and I call Mrs Pocket-lint. Hers is the only number I’ve written on the phone. By the end of the week, I might actually be able to remember it. It’s late afternoon and what’s really getting me is that I keep having this compulsion to check my phone but, of course, I know that it’s not going to tell me anything. I feel like a crack addict, with this craving a constant lurk at the back of my mind. That aside, I haven’t really encountered any real problems. The first actual issue is when I need to go to the loo. The heavy stuff. Normally I take my phone up as something to read while I’m there but instead I have to make do with the sights of my bathroom. I walk away having decided to buy a new splash guard for the shower and with the knowledge that the walls are going to need repainting soon at the rate it’s peeling off. Slightly depressing but certainly more productive than a few rounds of Angry Birds. The worst part of the day is bed time. Lately, I’ve pretty much stopped reading books altogether. Whereas I used to get through a chapter or two in bed just before Mrs PL turns the light off; I’ve taken to browsing the world through my smartphone with its own backlit illumination for as long as I want. This is probably more erudite than it sounds and has pretty much descended into trying to break my record at Time Attack on Flick Kick Football these days but either way, the option is not available to me this week. So, do I instead revert to picking up a Penguin Classic? No, I just watch even more South Park on the sofa downstairs until I’m ready to shut my eyes.
Tuesday
Wednesday
So, given that none of my family know Hugh and Mrs PL doesn’t have his number, I’m not sure how this is going to be possible. Fortunately, I remember that Android phones sync your contacts with your Gmail account and there’s his name card complete with mobile number sitting in my account. Google to the rescue. I take the pen out of my John’s Phone and add Hugh’s details to the address book. I’m up to bed late again. This time it’s a Family Guy episode I must have seen three or four times before. Will I ever read again?
Thursday
The rest of the day goes pretty much without a hitch. My little piece of paper that I’ve prepared with all the details of my meetings isn’t faring so well in the day-long drizzle but I can read enough of the smudging ink to make it to all three and all on time as well. As for my on-train entertainment, I’m giving that book a shot and, low and behold I manage to crack it. I get enough of it read to find myself gripped. I haven’t felt gripped by a book for a long time and it feels good, worthy, something a features editor should be doing. On the final leg of my journey home my John’s Phone starts to ring on a packed commuter train in rush hour. There’s a fair amount of rude boys in the carriage and I’m more than a little self-conscious as I pull out the pink handset blaring away at maximum volume. I’m trying to ignore the funny looks from a broad shouldered chap standing in front of me with a gold boxing glove round his neck, a Kangol cap at a purposefully jaunty angle and large lump of ice at his knuckles. “What is that phone, bruv,” he says to me as I get up for my stop. “It’s like an old school pager, mate, it’s wicked.” After a second’s doubt, it seems this guy’s actually serious. It turns out he wants one despite the BlackBerry Bold 9800 in his hand. “As long as it does Bluetooth, has it got Bluetooth?” he bellows across the crowd as I’m about to step off and the last image I have of him is one of pure incredulity as I shout back my reply. “It doesn’t even do text.”
Friday
Waiting around in the queue at the ticket office, I realise that the John’s Phone actually comes with games - well, game. At the back of the contacts book are nine blank grids of noughts and crosses. I ask the gentleman in front of me if he fancies playing and the fun lasts three rounds until we get the idea that no one’s going to win. He turns back and it’s all a little awkward for a while as we go back to ignoring each other before the clerk behind the glass relieves the situation.
Saturday
The downside is that I’ve no way of knowing what the football scores are, or what time the trains are coming when we head back. It’s not a massive deal. I can adjust to finding out both later on, but there is a matter of convenience. All the same, there’s an image that strikes me as we walk about the museum gardens. A little girl, looking cute as a button, stands in her mini yellow mac and pink wellies. She’s moving from puddle A to puddle B and back again with delight in eyes as she tries to work out which is the best for showing off her obviously new attire. All the while, her dad stands hunched over the buggy a few yards behind her with his head buried in his iPhone missing it all. Owning a smartphone doesn’t make that a certainty, but it’s a pointed reminder to me of what can happen. That evening I spend an extra half hour reading with Baby Lint before his sleepy time.
Sunday
All the same, I’ve had enough of this experiment and I must confess to cutting it a few hours short as I put the SIM back into my smartphone at lunchtime with quite some relief. All the same, I think I’ve got the point of what I’ve been through. I glance down at the screen of the John’s Phone for one last time and as I go to turn it off I realised that I never had to charge it once.
