Wednesday guest post: Lorraine H
So I’m starting a new series! Also known as an excuse to showcase some other bloggers’ voices (in case you were tired of mine), and an excuse to, oh, I don’t know, take an hour off! Perish the thought! (But …
So I’m starting a new series! Also known as an excuse to showcase some other bloggers’ voices (in case you were tired of mine), and an excuse to, oh, I don’t know, take an hour off! Perish the thought! (But here I am in any case writing an intro to – OH MY GOD IS YER WAN IN EASTENDERS BACK WITH MAX?!!! Sorry, total distraction there.)
Anyway! Lorraine H blogs over at John, It’s Only Make-Up! which I like the name of, because Lorraine Candy of Elle magazine, in Elle Collections, which is worth the €8-odd because it’s just so, so brilliant, made the point that, though people put fashion down, saying “it’s only frocks, isn’t it?”, it is in fact the second biggest industry in the UK, and no one turns around to motoring folk and goes, “it’s only cars, isn’t it?” So, enough wittering, to Lorraine’s blog post! I asked for a series entitled “why I love ______”, the blank space being filled by the blogger in question, and Lorraine rocked up at number one with her offering, Why I Love Old Nokias. Yes, really.
I was given my first mobile phone, a brick-like green-screened Nokia, for my birthday when I was just starting secondary school – and it was love from the first polyphonic start-up. At the time, the love was more to do with having my own phone than with the particular model. I thought being in possession of one would transform me into the invariably enthused phone-having female in the promotional images, with the early noughties uniform of baggy denim jeans, belly top and jelly necklace. More often than not there was the bonus addition of spiked out hair with more gel than you’d now find on the heads of every 14-year-old male at a youth disco. Thankfully, I’ve grown since then and have learned to appreciate the beauty of a good old hunk of hardy telephone – and, thankfully, midriff-covering garments.
The main reason I’ve got so much love for the first wave of accessible mobile phones is, surprisingly, not Snake. No; it’s their near indestructibility that has garnered my affection. I had an old brick of a thing that spent a lunchtime down a toilet in the local boy’s secondary school, two nights under in the grass behind I wall I had been sitting on while indulging in the hobby that encompassed my teenage years (loitering) and at least seven seconds of almost total submergence in a cup of tea. It’s also worth mentioning that said phone was a hand-me-down from my brother so would have been about 10 years old when I got my clumsy paws on it.
My love is heightened when I contrast the older models to the new i-HD-Smart-Touch yolks that are everywhere at the moment. In fact, I’ve got one. It’s the bane of my life. I don’t know what the programmer who created its predictive text was smoking but I can guarantee it was something that should have warranted a prison sentence. I have asked friends if they are engorged, told them I’m currently inhibiting and that I’m ducking sick of my ducking new phone. They can’t take the level of accidents I’m prone to causing. They are the partygoer who asks for a glass of water to drink while they wait for a taxi while my preferred phones are still on the way home from yesterday’s session.
I’m eagerly awaiting the day that this new phone packs in it, which shouldn’t be too far off when you combine my inability to close bottles properly before I put them into my handbag with its delicate nature. When it does, I will immediately take myself down to Moore Street and reacquaint myself with my bulky – but beautiful – first love.