It’s Sunday evening as I write this and thus the end of the first weekend after the post-Christmas return to work. It was not a vintage weekend – it started with a broken phone. A few years back a broken phone meant very little to me – I even once blogged about how little inconvenience I had experienced when deprived of a previously malfunctioning handset. But these days it’s more of a concern. Not because I need it to get in touch with anyone or indeed because I wish for anyone to get in touch with me, but because back in 2015, when I wrote about not being bothered about not having a phone, I didn’t really have a very good phone. I still used a separate camera to take pictures and while I had just about switched from listening to CDs to listening to downloads, I was still listening to music I had bought and paid for on a device that was specifically designed for playing music. These days my camera, and my music player are my phone. Also back in 2015 I had a landline, but I don’t even have that anymore. My phone, unbeknownst to me, has become a pretty essential part of my life. It’s also mainly how I tell the time. I’m not necessarily thrilled that it has come to be this way, but that is the world I live in now. A broken phone is apparently now an inconvenience.
Fortunately my phone was fixable. I’m actually due an upgrade from my provider in a few months so I didn’t want to spend a fortune on a repair and I was already envisaging days without access to the device due to said overpriced repair. However, in my town, as I’m sure is the case in a lot of towns, there are a number of establishments in the centre which are commonly referred to as ‘dodgy phone shops’. I would never normally give them a second thought, but I felt that my handheld device was already beyond saving and there was only so much damage that could come from trying them out. The one I tried came recommended from a fairly reliable source, but still seemed like the kind of establishment that would be best avoided by anyone that wants to remain on familiar terms with their wages. But as it turned out my prejudices were unfounded as, mere hours after my device malfunctioned, it was in working order again and the price I paid was incredibly reasonable. I’m not necessarily a convert to the ‘dodgy phone shop’ way of life, but it was, on this occasion, a surprisingly gratifying experience.
This was, as it turns out, all to the good, because, rather unusually, people were trying to get hold of me in the hours that my phone was out of action and Little Proclaims would have missed out on a rather enjoyable playdate this afternoon had I not been able to receive those communications. Instead Little Proclaims had a wonderful afternoon and I enjoyed the bonus of her having an early night thanks to her having expended much of her considerable energy resources running around with her friend pretending to be a unicorn.
Little Proclaims does not always pretend to be a unicorn. Earlier today, when we went to the first of her post-Christmas swimming lessons, she announced to her swimming instructor, and indeed to all the other parents and children, that she was a giraffe.
Little Proclaims is three, and I’m told this is normal behaviour for three-year-olds. However she was the only child in the class to claim to be a different species and I’m not sure a giraffe is well suited to swimming. But if this weekend has taught me anything, it’s to be a little more open-minded.
However, I’m not really sure this weekend has taught me anything.