AT LAST, I'VE GOT A NEW MOBILE - an all-singing, all-dancing, state-of-the-art, do-everything beastie.

I confess that it was long overdue. My trusty old mobile - a black Motorola Razr - had been through the wars. Earlier this year, it must have fallen out of my pocket or handbag (aka 'the kitchen sink') on a Friday evening as I was clambering into the motor for the ear-numbing drive home from the office on the concrete awfulness of the A180, stopping off to pick up the shopping en route.

'Where've you been?' the husband quizzed when I got back, carefully ignoring my struggle with the shopping. 'I've called eight times and you didn't answer.' He glanced at the kitchen-sink sized handbag and muttered something.

Back at the office on Monday morning and Security asked me if I knew of anyone who had lost a mobile. He was clutching my phone!

'It's been run over a few times,' he warned.

Apparently, he found it in a puddle in the car park outside the office as he was doing his rounds. It had been there all weekend - and had been run over more than once by the look of it.

I didn't hold out much hope, but it still worked! Granted - the screen was damaged, so I could only read parts of texts. This has caused Government whips no end of problems - as well as my staff and family. Some examples:

     All he chef ip ow (translation: Call the chief whip now)

     Ote n he om ons no (translation: Vote in the commons now)

     Pl s ca th ice (translation: Please call the office)

In the days before texts, PDAs, iPhones and the like, MPs were issued with pagers. The service was plagued with typographical errors. While others fumed, as a former chief sub-editor, I have affection for good typos. Here's a few I recall...

     Thank you and good night from the Chief Wit

     Please wait for a massage from the Prime Minister

     Good night from the chef

     The Time Master will be making a statment in the Commons

     Boat in the Commons now

     Goat in the Commons

     We are now on the German debate (They meant: We are now on the Adjournment debate.)

Then there was the risqué typo in a message from Gerry Sutcliff (currently our Minister of Sport) which suggested that Gerry was doing something rude to Cliff).  

Then there was:

     We have no conflicts.

That was my family paging me when I was in Tesco to tell me we had no Cornflakes. I came home with no Cornflakes. This lead to a conflict. So we did have conflicts after all!

I recall a few lovely typos when I was editing. This was back in the olden days of publishing (ie, the Nineties) with typewriters, typescales and typesetters, galleys, scalpels and Cow Gum. One feature on safe tanning used ultraviolent instead of ultraviolet. Then there was a tragic tot, triumph over adversity tale where little Kylie (or whoever) overcame a life-threatening illness. Mum's final words in the feature were: 'I knew Kylie would be OK when she turned round and gave me a nice big gin. I was so, so tempted not to correct gin to grin.

     I digress...

Apart from the cracked screen, my mobile had a huge dent in the back of it where it had been run over. Rather like the old soldier who pulls out a metal cigarette case showing where it deflected a bullet and saved their life, I would pull our my dented and damaged phone.

The fact is, I should've replaced it ages back, but I was attached to my Star Trek style communicator. 

Finally, it started to cut out on calls and, as I was due an upgrade, I'm now in possession of a sleekly engineered, stunning new phone. I can check the weather all over the world. I've programmed in Cleethorpes and London. Why is it the weather is always better where I'm not? I can check the stock market - but I don't have any shares in anything. There's a compass (my back garden faces SSE). I can go on line, email, text, listened to music (though I've yet to download anything); watch videos (ditto re downloading).

The husband is coveting the phone already. He is drawn to the map, route planning and GPS stuff. While we both cycle (mine is a lovely Falcon Black Diamond - handmade in Brigg - now so old-fashioned it has become a classic!) - the husband (Colnago, Merckx, Giant) loves really, really long rides - with hills. The steeper the better. He also gets punctures, gets tired, gets lost and calls me to rescue him

'Where are you?' I ask.

'I'm on my way back,' he replies. 'I'm somewhere on the Wolds near that village where we went to look at a war memorial 10 years ago - you know where I mean?'

Hmmmmm.

He now wants to take my phone for bike rides with him, so he can locate himself and I can run a more efficient rescue service.

Marvellous machine, my new phone.

Then it rang.

Buggered if I knew how to answer the thing!

PS: Apart from my phone, I've also run over my camera once crunching it into smithereens. But that's another story...

16 July 2009