‘Please just give me a phone that works. One where I dial the numbers and it rings someone.’ Simple.

How many times have I said that when I reluctantly upgrade – which incidentally is just an easy way for the phone company to extract your life savings for another overblown and unnecessary lengthy contract. Forget paying off your ‘interest only’ mortgage, you’ll be forking out your children’s inheritance till you die to pay for your mobile.

‘What’s this?’ I look dolefully at the box.
‘This is it. The temporary replacement phone, while we repair yours. A simple phone that works.’ That’s what the phone assistant grumpily said to me when I carried my own Blackberry in a coffin to be repaired. Yes, this is true I think as I look with disappointment at the temporary replacement she is offering me. It works, but where are the big screens, toggles, shiny bits and emails? I realise that without knowing it I now bow down at the alter of ‘must have’ technology. I stroke the accessories wall in the shop. Rubber sleeves for protecting my Blackberry. In pink? How sweet. Dashboard holders, remote widgets, didgets and fidgets… all made for me to buy.
Except they’re not.
I have lost my Blackberry to the Vodaphone infirmary. It’s desperately sick and as the surly shop assistant has told me - I might never see it again.
‘Don’t I get a brand new replacement one, on account of the extortionate monthly insurance fee and the fact it’s still under guarantee?’
‘Doubt it, probably a reconditioned one. Don’t really know.’ She is less than interested and picks her nails.
‘How well do you think this conversation is going so far?’ I hiss menacingly.
‘It’s not my problem’ comes the reply.
‘It soon might be. I want to cancel my account.’ I flounce out of the shop.
I hear faintly on the wind ‘That’ll be customer services you’ll have to ring then.’

I don’t know why this provoked my expletive as I left. Fifteen love to Vodaphone I fear.