A curious thing about a mobile phone, apart from the fact that my own was recently laughed out of the pub as "antique (see pic above), is the way that it stores up all your heart felt texted sentiments/failed liaisons/missed opportunities/ Chinese take-away orders etc until it tells you its memory is hurting and asks you to delete some of yours. Of course, if like me these days your memory resembles a Gruyere cheese, then acting on this prompt is often a salutary exercise as your past week's life is scrolled before you eyes to be deleted forever. Expectation follows (or proceeds?) hope, follows lust, follows apologies, follows tantrum. follows good result for the boys, away and all, follows curry....... And always ends/begins with " So what are we doing this weekend?" .Or as the Stones would have it "Well I am just a Monkey Man I'm glad you are a Monkey Woman too"
1 comment:
I secretly suspect that I am not even from the same planet as everyone else. If I'm ever famous the tabloids will want to know that sort of thing.
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