I left my mobile phone at home. Why? It’s a long story I’ll elaborate on later.
But how will I survive? I feel almost naked. No SMS. No wondering around the office and the city having conversations. It’s like a flashback to ten years ago. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll live.
9:45pm. Actually it’s not a very long story — just the result of getting locked out of my building at work on Friday night. Damn those electronic keys which claim to allow 24-hour access but don’t. Since my briefcase-thingy/glorified lunchbox was at work all weekend, this threw me completely as I left the house this morning, and I completely forgot to take my phone, only realising I’d forgotten it after I had run boarded the train, the doors had closed and it had started moving.
Miraculously enough, I survived being away for so long from it, by phoning it every hour or two just to make sure it was okay. And to check for messages.
Other highlights of the weekend: a fine, fine dinner (slightly pricey, but worth it) at a restaurant next to the Anthenaeum that I can’t remember the name of; lazing for half of Saturday; helping Tony and Rae move (even the kids helped, by offering token assistance on large objects, by carrying a few small objects, and most importantly by keeping each other occupied) followed by a stroll down to their Local Cool Cafe/Bar-type Establishment (the beer just after shifting lots of stuff always tastes best); breaking a ceramic cooking tray thingy (but the pizza that had been on it was fine, and hey, I hardly ever used it anyway); and managing to spend so much time out of the house that by the time I did the dishes on Sunday night for the first time since Wednesday, there wasn’t a huge imponderable pile of them waiting for me.