The most hyped gadget of all time, the iPhone, reaches London, writes Fiona McCann
It's only six hours to go at the Apple store on Regent Street, but things have taken a turn for the glum in the straggled line outside. The handful of punters queuing behind steel barricades erected to separate them from the rest of the downtown shoppers are starting to wilt.
Perhaps it's because these - the front-liners - have missed sleep, work, hot meals and almost two full days to be here at the vanguard for the grand unveiling. Or maybe it's because, as they stand in line to be the first proud owners of the about-to-be- released Apple iPhone, a number of smug-looking pedestrians stroll by nonchalantly toting sleek, shiny gadgets which, on close inspection, appear to be iPhones. Yes, there's no mistaking it, they're iPhones alright, walking around in broad daylight without so much as a pair of oversized sunglasses to disguise them.
"It's very annoying," admits the second in line, who has been waiting since 9.45am on Thursday. He has further reason to be vexed, given that due to a delayed train he was pipped to the prime spot by Graham Gilbert, who now stands top of the queue, a little bleary-eyed but proud that, within a matter of hours, he is set to become the first owner of an iPhone in England. Except, that is, for the irritatingly growing number of iPhone owners taking photos of them with said iPhones as they pass.
"EBay," explains one such passer-by, who has had his iPhone for two months now. Of course, he shouldn't be able to use it until 6:02pm, the time when the phones go on sale and the O2 network gears up for iPhones, or so those shivering inside the barricades contest. But this savvy iPhoner has already managed to unlock it using some advanced technological know-how that means he's also able to use it on a rival network. As he taps it lightly to check his e-mail, he allows me to look over his shoulder at the snazzy graphics and mind-boggling multi-functionality, but I'm not allowed to hold it. Though he's had it for two months, the honeymoon clearly isn't over, and besides, to release such a thing on Regent Street so close to the salivating queuers would be risky in the extreme.
IT'S JUST AS well there are extra bobbies around who've been posted on the block to make sure those in line don't get out of control. So far, so good, but things are definitely heating up and with the local Starbucks providing free coffee to those in line, things on Regent Street could get hairy.
Meanwhile, inside the store, staff are scurrying as the clock counts down, but despite rumours that the phones are in fact already in the building, nobody will say where and there's not a single iPhone in sight. Except, once again, for one belonging to a young lady browsing among the computers who wishes to remain anonymous. She produces one momentarily from her bag to show me before a bushel of Apple workers emerges from the shiny white surfaces to close in on her. "I can't show it to you here," she whispers, looking surreptitiously over her shoulder as they approach at alarming speed. "I can't talk - I have to go." And she disappears into the flash of paparazzi outside.
The Apple Store staff have had just about enough of that sort of carry-on, and, as the line outside of wannabe iPhone owners begins to snake around the corner, they turf out all remaining customers and lock the store up. Customers, journalists, and a large number of beefy security-men are left outside the glass doors, straining for a glimpse of the long-awaited gadgets.
Members of staff who do emerge from behind the heavily guarded doors are tight-lipped. They can't talk to the press, they tell me, as they are whipped back inside. Also on the wrong side of the locked doors is Chris Gartside, who had just come along to collect his computer, which was in for repairs - wrong day, buddy. Computers were yesterday's news - it's all about the iPhones now. "Who's the celebrity?" asks some innocent passer-by, who has clearly just beamed down from outer space. "The phones! It's the phones!" somebody informs him from the scrum that's beginning to make Regent Street impassable. The unfortunately surnamed Paul Waite is number eight in line, and he's starting to get excited. "It's like being a music fan and going to a concert," he says, his eyes like two bitten apples. Number seven, Paul Alcott, regards me with some contempt as I take a call on my pathetic Sony Ericsson. "I wouldn't be caught dead with that thing," he says as I bring the outmoded handset to my ear. His eyes are on the bigger prize, which will set him back £269 (€380), plus an 18-month contract with O2. "I'd pay five times that if I had to," he says proudly.
Back in Dublin, we'll have to wait until spring before the privilege of queuing for an iPhone is ours, but if the buzz on Regent Street is anything to go by, the earlier you hit the footpath the better. I'm off to get my flask.