One of the things I find most difficult to get on with in
today’s world is text messaging on mobile phones. Helen’s a texter. I’m not; I’m
an e-mailer.
Helen sent me a text message today. I didn’t pick it up for
over four hours. That’s because I hardly use my mobile phone, keeping it only
for back up and the odd convenience now and then if I’m out and really have to call somebody. It sits unnoticed
on my office desk all day, so I only hear the alarm if I’m in earshot. I put
about £10 a year credit on it, that’s
how little I use the thing.
And there’s another problem. Because I use it so
infrequently, and because I have no need of fancy gadgets and apps, I haven’t
renewed it for more than eight years. The letters have all but worn off the
keys now, so I have to mentally work out where nearly every letter is, which
makes texting substantially slower and more cumbersome than one-finger typing.
I try to discourage Helen from texting me; I try to
discourage everybody from texting me. I only text back if a reply is essential,
and I keep it as short as I can.
Should anybody ever want to send me a message, one of my
e-mail addresses is on my profile page. And if anybody out there has my mobile
phone number (come to think of it, there are one or two,) please call. Don’t
text. Thank you.
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