Do I go to the dark side?
I've maintained that one iPhone in a household, in this household, is enough.
I've left her to consult the walking internet to find out what we've seen 'yer man offof Criminal Minds in before,' while I tilt my head sideways to see if the blue light on my Nokia is flashing. It almost never is.
I like keys. I like the predictiveness and the fact that my little piece of Finnish artistry won't spell out 'fuck' the first time around. Neither 'wanker,' 'shitbags' nor 'onomatepaeia.' It's manual for the swears.
I make this my fourth Nokia. The wallpaper is of Amsterdam and it's on the right side of grainy. It makes calls, but has started to cut out. The volume stays at the same level. I don't change my ringtone. I usually keep it on silent. It has WAP. Honest to jaysus WAP. It lives in my left breast pocket when I go out to play or, moreso nowadays, to the shop for something I forgot to get last time.
It's Ready to Go, assuming Vodafone still call it that.
It is quaint, and I like it for its ease and fiddliness.
Lately, though, I've become preoccupied by what it doesn't do.
It doesn't take photos that you can see without visual aid. It doesn't tell me whether or not my friends (or is it followers?) have had their Weetabix, or what they'd say to the Troika. It doesn't work the Twitter machine. It doesn't tag me in bed watching Frasier, or sitting on the jacks, or staring at my staring wall. It doesn't tell me what Richard Dean Anderson's doing right around now, or whether he has a Twitter machine, or if he can work the touchpad. It doesn't convert money to other monies or pay bills or make toast or anything.
It doesn't compute.
Afraid of phone bills ever since I spent my entire 21st birthday present fixing payment for a Panasonic that couldn't switch off, then couldn't switch on, I'm reluctant to swap the €50 a month I spend in credit for something more addictive than crack itself, a device so all consuming that I'll spend most of my time looking down instead of sideways.
Reluctant too because my fingers turn to clunk when presented with a touchscreen, the fear of sending typos out into the world greater than contracting the Ebola virus. Remember that? I could look that up too.
How much do they cost anyway?