If you need to ring me, please use my normal phone, because a replacement charger for one of these costs about $80 and seems to be unavailable anywhere in Adelaide. I have it switched to the function that uses the least amount of power (so can’t make calls or receive text messages) just in case the mister is able to find one at one of the shops he hasn’t yet visited.
Soon I will lose all of the numbers I haven’t transferred from the phone’s memory to the SIM card. And I will lose the last six months of text messages. I already lost the previous two year’s when it went flat sometime last year.
I know no one sends cards or letters anymore, but now we can send messages back and forth from the top of a London bus. Updates from the hospital when we’re too exhausted to speak. Good lucks to people before they walk on stage. How are yous because we want to know, but there’s still the dishes to do and a load of washing to hang.
When I walk past the phone, which I often do, because it is on the bench which is between the rest of the house and the kitchen sink, I take a look at it. I am watching the charge bar drop lower and lower, and thinking about the loss I’m about to have.
A sadness of the 21st century.