Today I was forced to cope all alone, without my usual communications and with no friendly help from my trusted digital lifeline. Today I was without my iPhone. I won’t apologise for being dramatic (I love a drama) but I will try to retain the ‘it could be worse’ mantra I found myself adopting for the day. That said, it nearly always could be worse, and for me today was made rather trickier in the absence of what isn’t just a phone to me.
Here is how I managed…… And moaned……
First thing, as I was getting ready to leave the flat, I was startled to hear the landline go off (it never usually does in the mornings) and found that Adam was calling me to let me know it was cold out and to cover my ears. He couldn’t of course get me on my mobile and the landline call reminded me how much I was going to miss my mobile. And imagine, if we didn’t have a landline, I’d have gone out without a scarf and hat and then who knows how cold my ears would have been?!
Next I couldn’t tweet my glee in having found a seat on the top deck at the front of the bus. These things I would usually share!
Safely on the bus though, I could not send the usual text to Adam to say a proper good morning and enquire about his journey to work. He knew I was without my phone though so presumably he didn’t take exception.
En route to my first appointment on the bus, I couldn’t check my work emails as usual first thing. Nor action anything within them of course. Wasted time!
And I couldn’t check my diary for the day so I was forced to rely completely on my memory alone with no hope of checking ‘just in case’.
Annoyingly I couldn’t track my map progress on my way to my appointment, and as I wasn’t entirely sure where to get off the bus I became worried I’d missed the stop. The automated announcements finally told me where to alight but not before I convinced myself I’d gone past and started flapping.
Whilst I waited for my appointment to begin, I couldn’t shop online for the make up I’d started to run low on and was forced to watch the waiting room TV. More wasted time.
As I left, I couldn’t update my Facebook status to say how wound-up I was about the people at the pelican crossing not pressing the button (I pressed it when I realised the SIX people already waiting hadn’t, and low and behold the green man appeared within seconds!).
Then of course I couldn’t check my route onward to my next appointment. Thankfully my knowledge of the tube map and London’s buses is sufficient enough that I managed, but it would have been good to know I was taking the best route.
AND I couldn’t let the office know I was on my way and running on time.
I couldn’t Google the opening times and tours for the Whitechapel Bell Foundry as I passed it and remembered I’d been wanting to go. Perhaps I’d forget again until I next went past as I couldn’t put a reminder in my diary either.
As I walked from Bank to London Bridge, I couldn’t grumble (via Twitter) about it being so cold as to need gloves and not having any.
And as I crossed over the Thames on London Bridge, I couldn’t Instagram the beautifully sunny view down the river. Nor could I snap a picture of the Shard which was positively gleaming on such a crisp, clear day.
At my next appointment, a tasting, I was unable to refer to an email a client had sent to me, in order to reminder her of her chosen wines.
And afterwards I felt left out as on our return to the office, everyone hit their phones and I was left to look out of the window.
Back at the office, I couldn’t show anyone a venue on my Google Maps and the best way to get there, leaving us to find it in an old A to Z.
Adam was unable to send me the links to some lamps he’d found and was thinking of buying.
And then following after work drinks, I couldn’t let Adam know I was on my way home again and enquire about supper.
I didn’t feel as safe as usual on my way home, as it occurred to me that I was walking in the dark with no way of calling for help.
And I couldn’t check my Twitter feed on the bus ride home. Which made it feel TWICE as long.
I couldn’t write this blog on my Word Press app so was forced to resort to the old fashioned method of pen and paper (although courtesy of my cute pink Smythson note book).
And perhaps worst of all I couldn’t check the progress of my new handset’s delivery. When they sent me the wrong handset on Saturday, I could at least check on its whereabouts whilst out, and knew that I was coming home to it. Today though I just had to hope that all was well and it had been despatched as promised, and the exchange of wrong phone to right had been carried out successfully by my obliging concierge back at the flat.
And it had been. And so it was with utter delight that I took my delivery from concierge office to flat, and feverishly opened the parcel to burst forth the sacred contents.
They’d sent me the wrong one again.