I have a brand spanking new mobile telephone. Not just brand spanking new, but my first. Ever. In announcing this (on the world wide web, no less), I'm declaring defeat.
I've been telling myself for years (hey, I've been telling most of you for years) that mobile phone rejection makes me one cool counter-cultural cat. Along with my rampant underarm hair and my organic vegan fairtrade choc-chip cookie recipe, yes, sister, my personal abstinence from mobile phone ownership has been dismantling the empire one foregone text message at a time. Of course, there've been eloquent tirades to accompany my mobile non-ownership. All you've had to do is ask me to text you on arrival and I've explained at length that the mobile phone is one of the most virulent manifestations of an economy predicated on creating a need for things we don't need, on selling us products that require ongoing expenditure, that I reject such an economy, and my carrier pigeons are totally free-range. I am OH SO EDGY, I've told you. No, I do not have a camera in my phone, I have a camera in my camera, I've said. How about (I know this is unorthodox) we decide where we're going to meet right now?
For quite a while you've put up with this. You've even indulged me. But it's become increasingly clear these last few months that you don't celebrate my exultant inner luddite. In short, every time I boast of my phonelessness, your fingers start phantom-texting the word "tosser".
So I have a phone (you'll all be pleased to read). I haven't inserted its batteries yet. I haven't actually signed up for a payment plan (although, after consulting everyone from William Blake scholars to government officials, I've decided it's going to be some kind of prepaid thingy). The truth is, having willfully ignored the whole mobile fandango for fifteen years, I need an adult education course in SMS-as-a-second-language.